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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560270">Forced Progression</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xandad/pseuds/Xandad'>Xandad</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Touhou Project</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Murder, Domestic/Modern AU, F/F, Murder-Suicide, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partial Nudity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, some characters have different names</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:28:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560270</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xandad/pseuds/Xandad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello!</p><p>This is something that I've had dwelling in my mind for the past month or so. LoLK was one of my favorites from the series starting my binge of Touhou through quarantine, and I especially liked the darker spin it took when it came to Junko. Also, looking at a ton of HecaJun content with Clownpiece as their stupid fairy daughter melts the heart.</p><p>I wanted to start what is probably going to just be a small series of chapters with a less superficial AU of these characters, with as much parallel to the original LoLK story for Junko specifically as possible, with some liberties taken for everyone. Also, since in this setting, a child named Clownpiece is kinda silly (as if it's not goofy enough in the source material), her name will be Clara (or as lightly mentioned with Hecatia, Piece as a nickname, To Be Explained Later). Thought it was good and also it's, fairly American, quite fitting imo.</p><p>I plan to update this semi-frequently, no real schedule. I promise not to dip on it like I did with that FE4 fic I completely lost interest in (shoutouts if there's literally any bleedover.)</p>
        </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Junko/Hecatia Lapislazuli, Kishin Sagume/Doremy Sweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Breaking News and Breaking Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The room is sterile and lifeless. Whatever souls had once roamed within are hanging by a thread, more specifically, the wire thread of a phone. Anyone who wanders inward is heavily frisked and given as watchful of an eye as those whose residency this heartless realm is. Anytime a visitor is granted access past the surveillance, they're greeted with a wall adorned with glass panes and shattered hopes on the other sides. This environment is seen as humane to some, allowing those imprisoned in this asylum to have contact with the outside world, drip feeding them humanity through the telephone line. However, this contact with the outside world is often not enough, the weekly glimpse of hope not sustaining the hearts of those trying to rectify their crimes.</p><p>A red-headed woman is met at the door of the prison's call center, one of the two officers at the door greeting her by name. She's an unmistakable presence, as she's been here every week for the past two years to make her visit. Often times she is profiled by her peculiar fashion, looking like she made a wrong turn and wound up at the penitentiary instead of a rave. Today she adorns a black and white checkerboard poncho sweater, an ankle length black skirt patterned with cartoonish red skulls, and short black rain boots. A fashion disaster to the highest degree. Some would think she just comes here to torment the prisoners with eyesore after eyesore, an unusual punishment against those stuck in orange jumpsuits. A guard leads her to the end of the hall to meet the one she came for, and the one she's spent over a hundred weeks coming for. Almost synchronously, the two women sit down and pick up the phone, an all too familiar ritual.</p><p>"Hey Junko," the anti-fashionista says, putting her elbows on what little space the shelf in front of her provides, leaning forward towards the reinforced glass between them.</p><p>"Hello Hecatia," Junko states tiredly, having woken up fairly recently, "what brings you here so early? It's hardly even noon, I assume you have to be somewhere?"</p><p>"Yeah, Piece got into some trouble at school today and they have her in detention, but I got time," Hecatia states, twirling the phone's cord in her finger, "you know I always have time for this."</p><p>"And is this your punishment for her? Surely any one of those children seeing you drag her out will never let her live it down," Junko says, sitting back in her chair to make sure she's not seeing some sort of illusion with Hecatia's fashion, "checkerboard and skulls..."</p><p>"Hey! It's called contrast, you can look it up anytime you want to," Hecatia replies snappily, glaring at a Junko who now has the smallest of grins on her face. After a second of silence and readjustment, Hecatia sighs, putting a hand in her hair. "I put the little rascal in public school for a week and she's already gotten into some sorta mess, I guess I shoulda seen it coming but, still. Let's just hope she didn't deck some poor kid in the jaw."</p><p>This is the typical stream of conversation for these two. Hecatia receives some friendly ridicule from Junko, Hecatia snaps back, then she shares a little bit of her family life. The duo have known each other since they were teenagers, and with them coming into their 30s, it's a tight friendship that has stood the test of time. Even in these trying circumstances.</p>
<hr/><p>Police sirens begin to blare outside of a normally peaceful neighborhood, the noise droning through the night sky. The vehicles are surrounding and barricading a singular home amidst them all, the commotion drawing the attention of the neighbors, most of them standing on their front lawns to spectate whatever chaos may conspire in front of them. This is more than just a noise complaint or annoyance, the volume of authorities there signifies something dire has happened. One of the neighbors, a poor soul named Ringo, is in hysterics of what she'd just stumbled upon, incomprehensibly spouting at the officers. It's apparent she was the one who made the call in the first place, but hasn't calmed down since.</p><p>Two individuals disperse into the home, an investigator and an armed officer. The sight they come across is just as gruesome as it was described. In the living room of this home, an assumed father and young son lie on the floor, their bodies cold and without a pulse. No sign of battery, stab wounds, or bullet holes, just two cadavers. The officer double-checks the situation, confirming what was reported and found. According to the incoherent screams of Ringo, the two were found lifeless some twenty minutes ago when the former had arrived to return something she'd borrowed from the family. The bizarre part of it all is that she didn't outright know who the man and boy were, as the neighborhood was a place "where everyone knows everyone," and that they obviously weren't from around the area. The home belongs to a woman named Chang'e, and her alone. </p><p>The crime was ruled as a murder-suicide, with the bodies being taken to a mortician for an autopsy. The investigation is not over, however, as there's still a very important person at-large who wasn't found at the scene.</p>
<hr/><p>"I doubt it, you've always said Clara was never the violent type, even though you took the girl at an age most wouldn't," Junko says, cupping her elbow with her other hand to steady her hold of the phone. </p><p>"Yeah I know, it's just the other trouble I know she can get herself into, kid's astonishingly clever," Hecatia says, leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs under her skirt, having to shuffle around to make sure her boots don't track grime onto her prized fashion. "I remember hearing about the stigma of getting a kid over the age of like, five, from an orphanage, and I took a kid at eight. But like, come on, I wasn't letting the poor girl rot there. Seeing that little ball of energy frown now wounds me enough as is, I don't want to imagine anything worse." Whenever conversation creeps onto Clara, or Piece if going by Hecatia's nickname, it's hard for Hecatia to not immediately begin to fawn over the child. She'd adopted the girl very shortly before she felt inclined to pay Junko these visits. Odds are, whatever punishment is delivered for Clara in the future is not going to be all too harsh.</p><p>"Your hair was blue back then," Junko interjects, wanting to get a word in edgewise in this conversation before Hecatia completely slips off the rails, "I personally thought it looked better that way." </p><p>"You said the same thing when I bleached my hair to blonde," Hecatia states, hunching forward and squinting at Junko, "I swear you have something against my natural, red color." She runs a hand through her hair, turning her head as if to force Junko to look at it.</p>
<hr/><p>"This is Aya Shameimaru at Lunar Drive with breaking news on this developing story!" the reporter exclaims, a solemn look on her face contrasting the energy of her words. The usually sensationalist reporter stands in front of a familiar cul-de-sac, her body language reading as if she was attending a funeral. </p><p>The TV broadcast blasts in the kitchen of Hecatia's home, the woman cleaning the dishes from dinner had earlier in the night. Hecatia squints at the TV screen, her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach as she realizes the location the news has anchored down on. She turns to the kitchen table, the new addition to her home fiddling with a portable game console, the noise being unwelcome in this circumstance. </p><p>"Clara, you're not in trouble, but, go to your room," Hecatia states with strict conviction, looking at her daughter with utmost fear and uncertainty in her eyes. The idea of seeing this location on the news spikes her anxiety, as any news covering the ongoing story has for the past week.</p><p>"But-" Clara attempts to speak up, pausing her game and only turning her head halfway before she's met with more stern speech.</p><p>"<i>Go to your room, don't give me a hard time,</i>" Hecatia shouts, pointing her finger in the direction of Clara's bedroom. She sighs, realizing that this may not be a great impression in the first week of having this girl as her daughter, "I'll, take you out for ice cream tomorrow, just go, please." Clara drops dead silent, taking herself and her game away from the scene, Hecatia not getting time or a good angle to gauge the reaction. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on viewpoint, Hecatia turns to the television again to figure out she hadn't missed much of the story. As she had feared, it was right outside of Chang'e's home, the location where a heinous crime had just happened a week ago.</p><p>"-what'd we learned of was an affair with the local politician Chang'e, whose text messages with the father had revealed a plan to kidnap his son and elope elsewhere, has devolved into a situation with more carnage." Aya states over the broadcast, the first portion of her sentence not being caught by Hecatia in time, but it's assumed little of importance was missed. "As if this were a textbook crime, Chang'e had returned to her home, the scene of the murder-suicide, and was immediately assaulted by the ex-wife and ex-mother, Junko." Small, low-quality graphics flash on the screen, showing a photogenic photo of Chang'e and an old, cropped photo of Junko from her social media accounts.</p>
<hr/><p>"Two years, two years for something anyone with a heart would have done in that situation," Hecatia mumbles, looking at the clock to see it ticking at 12:27, signifying their visit was just about to be wrapped up. "But, a few days and that's all going to be behind us." </p><p>Junko sits in silence, dead eyes staring at the shelf in front of her. The two had gone a little silent earlier, when Hecatia ran out of Clara-related things to say. This is also fairly typical, it's hard for Hecatia to be one hundred percent conversational with only a week's worth of new information in her head. This unusual visiting hour can also be to blame for Junko's sluggishness, as it's a little off her circadian rhythm for this day in the week.</p><p>"I'm just about done remodeling the guest room to suit you, I even got some concert posters from when we were teens hanging up in that room, you'll remember the busted eardrums soon enough," Hecatia says, leaning forward with a little more energy in her system. "I was also planning to tell Piece today about the whole thing, she probably won't care all too much, kid's never complained when I've had guests over in the past." This does showcase one of Hecatia's biggest flaws: short-sightedness. It's a big change coming in all three of their lives, maybe it's best to tell your daughter a little sooner about an ex-felon coming to live with you. </p>
<hr/><p>Hecatia drops the plate in her hands onto the ground, the sound of porcelain shattering being suppressed by her own befuddlement and surprise. She'd kept in heavy contact with Junko ever since the news of the crime broke through to the community, as she couldn't comprehend the damage of the situation on Junko. Learning that your husband had been cheating on you, kidnapped your son, and then took both of their lives, <i>through the local news,</i> could have on a person. Apparently he had done it out of cowardice, being unable to go through with the final phase of eloping with Chang'e. It was also done hastily and cleanly, as he had forced himself and his son to ingest a dosage of painkillers that'd do a bear in. </p><p>She'd always known Junko as a very pragmatic woman, the foil to her rather wild own rather wild personality. While the dread that surrounding the grieving Junko was palpable, never did Hecatia believe she showed a sign that she'd go personally seek out Chang'e and try to kill her. Little did she know, things were now switched up in a horrid, tragic way.</p><p>"Major, but non-life threatening injuries were sustained by Chang'e, and the commotion had alerted the neighbors to notify authorities and intervene. As it stands right now, both women are in police custody and are to be tried by the end of the week," Aya states over the mic, the camera panning a little away from her and to the officers, who were now shoving a disheveled Junko into their vehicle with little resistance. </p><p>"Son of a bitch, I, why..." Hecatia mumbles to herself, slipping on a jacket over her pajamas and kicking into a pair of sandals, readying for a trip out in the frigid night air. She has no idea where she has to actually go to accomplish her goal of finding her friend, but she's willing to travel all night to find out. "I just told you to stay home and it'd all sort itself, why'd you have to act like a lunatic." She fumbles around with the pockets of her coat, dropping her car keys onto the ground and then hastily scooping them back up. Hecatia puts a hand on the front door to the apartment, shouting back for Clara to hear, "Mama's going to be out for a while, if I come back to find anything broken, you're in big trouble young lady!"</p><p>"This is Aya Shameimaru with Channel Ten News, covering the most devastating story I and this town have heard of in recent memory, signing off," comes the voice from the television, before cutting to commercials.  </p>
<hr/><p>The minute hand on the clock ticks to 12:30, one of the guards coming up to Hecatia and notifying her of something she's already far aware of. On the other side of the glass, another guard puts a hand on Junko's shoulder. Hecatia holds up a single finger, the guard on her end being gracious enough to let her get her last words in edgewise. </p><p>"I'll be here to pick you up with Piece, and we're going to go out to lunch. Let you two get to know each other a little bit, then you can settle in back home. If you need to be with just me at any point, let me know, alright?" Hecatia says, putting a hand to the glass and giving Junko an oddly motherly gaze, something she's learned to perfect these past two years, "I'll see you again soon Junko." </p><p>"See you soon, Hecatia," an exasperated Junko says over the line. Even in her most despondent torpors here, whenever she gets to talk with Hecatia, she always has to say hello and goodbye. Perhaps it's the time in prison that's kept her in line with formatting her days and weeks against her will. </p><p>"Time's up, Ms. Lapislazuli," the guard states in an exhausted tone, as if Hecatia had a history of dragging these out for too long.</p><p>"Yeah yeah, I know, yeesh," she retorts.</p><p>As Hecatia stands up and reluctantly makes her way out of the call center, the guard with his hand on Junko's shoulder nudges her to get moving. As if like a mannequin being posed by an artist, she too moves without much primary thought. She's been so used to this life that, despite her time in the slammer not even being a tenth of her total lifetime, she's scared to how she'll adjust to the outside world. Hecatia's a friend Junko can trust with her life, but she fears she might become too much of a burden. After all, how much welfare can one person have? Will her battered mental state allow her to integrate into that home well? What about Clara, a young girl reaching a critical phase in her growth at age ten, will a disparity between her and Junko wear Hecatia's charity thin? Although Junko's body will no longer be imprisoned, her mind might not exactly follow suit.</p><p>A few minutes pass, and Hecatia's in the driver's seat of her car, texting away on her phone before she starts the engine. Most of her texts are flying out to close friends of hers, some to Clara about being at the school soon. Her own day has just begun, and she's definitely sure there's going to be some mayhem going forth. Hecatia haphazardly drops her phone in the cupholder of her vehicle, then turns her key in the ignition. Time to get out of this parking lot and onto the road.</p><p>"Alright, what could you have possibly gotten into?" Hecatia whispers to herself, pressing her foot on the gas. </p>
<hr/><p>GENSOKYO POLICE DEPARTMENT CASE REPORT</p><p>CASE #32454</p><p>DATE OF INCIDENT: 11/02/20XX</p><p>PERPETRATOR: JUNKO (SURNAME NOT FOUND)</p><p>FELONY CONVICTION(S): FIRST DEGREE INTENTIONAL HOMICIDE, TRESPASSING.</p><p>SENTENCE: TWO YEARS WITHOUT BAIL OR PAROLE.</p><p>INTRODUCTION AND CONVICTION: On the evening of November 2nd, at approximately 10:13pm, the suspect Junko had been on the property of Chang'e (Surname Not Found), awaiting the homeowner's arrival inside the house, unarmed. It is assumed that once Chang'e entered the home, Junko had charged at her. The damages sustained were not fatal, however the crime showed premeditation, enough to qualify. Junko herself had only sustained minor injuries from the struggle. Due to the events detailed in Chang'e's own case (Case #32453, Date of Incident: 10/26/20XX), the potential sentence was lowered to two years, as it qualifies for a crime of passion and clouded judgement from the perpetrator. However, to avoid possible instability before the sentence is up, no chance for parole, bail, or appeals were granted. Junko had plead guilty in court, and a unanimous vote of the jury agreed. This concludes the case report.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello!</p><p>This is something that I've had dwelling in my mind for the past month or so. LoLK was one of my favorites from the series starting my binge of Touhou through quarantine, and I especially liked the darker spin it took when it came to Junko. Also, looking at a ton of HecaJun content with Clownpiece as their stupid fairy daughter melts the heart.</p><p>I wanted to start what is probably going to just be a small series of chapters with a less superficial AU of these characters, with as much parallel to the original LoLK story for Junko specifically as possible, with some liberties taken for everyone. Also, since in this setting, a child named Clownpiece is kinda silly (as if it's not goofy enough in the source material), her name will be Clara (or as lightly mentioned with Hecatia, Piece as a nickname, To Be Explained Later). Thought it was good and also it's, fairly American, quite fitting imo.</p><p>I plan to update this semi-frequently, no real schedule. I promise not to dip on it like I did with that FE4 fic I completely lost interest in (shoutouts if there's literally any bleedover.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bumpy Ride Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The time ticks over to 1:00pm, the traffic not proving forgiving on this short travel from a penitentiary to a public school, forecasting a dreadful ride from that school home. Hecatia parks her car, a convertible loaded with decals as questionable as her clothes, in the circle drive of the school. She's relieved that there's no clutter of vehicles here, as she was already on the brink of swearing like a sailor in an environment chock full of impressionable children. Having to scold her own daughter in t-minus five minutes isn't helping her temperament either. She emerges from the driver's seat, and with a click of her key fob, it's locked. </p><p>Adrift Forest Elementary, a quaint little school on the cusp of Gensokyo's largest forest. While schools of it's type and funding aren't heavily secured, there's heavy fencing preventing kids from getting to the thick of the woods. Even the most sly of children wouldn't be able to escape into the fairly dangerous woods beyond with just moderate supervision during recess. Hecatia enrolled Clara into this school knowing that the girl would be put in good hands with the administration's focus on safety, plus it's close by. It could get potentially dicey if Clara were to hit a rebellious streak and were to disappear, however. Yet, in the limited two years Hecatia has spent with the girl, she's aware Clara is a can of worms that manages to be every bit of a handful, except dangerous rebellion. It's healthy to build this trust system with your daughter, correct?</p><p>Fortunately, and almost hilariously considering the school's comedically heavy fencing, the front entrance is unsecured. Hecatia strolls in, eyeing around the cafeteria that composes the lobby, attempting to remember where the office is. Through navigating signage made for children to understand, she finds a door to the office on her right. Not hesitating, she turns the knob and the door gives way, herself making her presence known. The second she's fully through the door, a woman's voice from the front desk calls. This woman, a higher power in this school, dons a solid navy blue dress, disheveled green hair conflicting with this supposed professionalism. Hecatia senses this poor office lady has been through a lot today, hopefully not all of it being in regards to Clara.</p><p>"State your purpose," the lady says, exasperation in her voice as she lifts her head lazily.</p><p>"Principal... Mima, was it?" Hecatia asks, desperately looking around to find some sort of plaque with her name on it. They'd met once before when she'd admitted Clara, but it wasn't a very memorable excursion. With no immediate response making any corrections, she assumes it's alright to keep speaking. "I'm, Ms. Lapislazuli, P-... Clara's mother," she states, the sentence itself being spewed like garbage frequencies out of her mouth. She can tell the principal is taking notice of her wincing and forcing smiles through this short exchange. Despite being into her early thirties at this point, Hecatia is not quite used to being so formal. Her job has never required it and Hell was likely to freeze before she ever referred to herself as miss or missus <i>anything</i></p><p>"Ah, the new one, she and some of the other students pulled quite a stunt on one of our teachers," Mima replies, sitting up straighter in her office chair and running a hand through her hair, "poor woman poured coffee all over that new white blouse too, how unfortunate." Her explanation is brief and low on energy, as if this isn't the worst thing in the world. Perhaps some of the lethargy is just burn-out, or just how this woman naturally is? Either way, Hecatia isn't exactly interested in getting to know the intricacies of the principal's personality. "Clara is in the back, leftmost office, hopefully writing her apology," Mima continues, using a pen to gesture behind her. With that being all she needed, Hecatia nods and follows directions, finding a door leading into a cramped room. Another door to open, she supposes.</p><p>The first sight Hecatia is greeted with is Clara sitting on a tablet desk with her feet kicked up on it. Or, at least for a second, because the door opening was probably the audible trigger for the young girl getting her legs off said table. The look on her face is admittedly hard for Hecatia to read, as it can be interpreted as fear, uncertainty, or even thinly veiled excitement. On the desk is a yellow piece of paper with a mix of thin text and a child's handwriting, presumably the aforementioned apology note. Clara is dressed in a red and blue flannel button-up, white and red plaid skirt, and sneakers with an array of cutesy animals on them. It's living proof that Hecatia knows how to dress a child as well as herself, also known as not very cohesively. This is probably a result of letting the kid just pick her own clothes, too.</p><p>"Piece, I'm parked outside, come on, let's get going," Hecatia states, doing a beckoning hand motion. Without a reply, the girl hops out of the desk, leaving the note on the desk and taking Hecatia's hand. Without making much of a show of things, the two head out of the school and to the convertible in silence. Once they buckle up and hit the road, Hecatia speaks up.</p><p>"Staying quiet isn't going to get you in less trouble, young lady," she says, side-eyeing Clara with an annoyed look on her face, "if you just tell me what happened, maybe I'll let you off the hook a little."</p><p>"Mmmm," Clara mumbles through closed lips, leaning on the window near her seat, reluctant to speak up about what happened. Hecatia's aware of what's going on in her daughter's head here. She was probably scolded pretty loudly and harshly, something she's obviously not used to. It's only happened once or twice since Clara was adopted, for doing similar "stunts" on her.</p><p>"Clara, what did I just tell you?" Hecatia says with more fervor, already a tad annoyed with how this is dragging on. She's also grown accustomed to ditching nicknames for times like these, similar to if she just enunciated their whole family name. The traffic from earlier and the humongous announcement she has to make to her daughter soon is not helping her keep cool. </p><p>"It wasn't even that serious," Clara mutters, sitting up and putting her head on the back of her seat, "if Ms. Margatroid wasn't so clumsy this wouldn't have even happened." </p><p>"Well, I still haven't heard 'what even happened,'" Hecatia replies, using a free hand to make air quotes, "so, go on, tell me. We're gonna be on the road a little longer than usual today anyways so, I got time." She shrugs after making this statement, and not long after, ferociously honks her horn at someone who nearly T-boned her car at an intersection.</p>
<hr/><p>"So you're the new kid?" a girl with short hair with pigtails asks from the desk across from her, at a volume loud enough to get more than their quartet desk section noticing it. </p><p>"Yeah,  this is my first day here," Clara retorts with a hint of visual confusion, barely before having her shoulder grabbed by another girl sitting right beside her. This one's got long, neatly cut hair, and amber eyes wide and reflective as fishbowls.</p><p>"You look so weird, also, your hat is also super weird," the girl with long hair says, reaching for Clara's headwear. It's a pink sleeping cap with white spots on it, a personal favorite of hers. </p><p>"Hey! That's rude!" Clara shouts. Understandably so, she shoves off lightly and puts her hands over her head, trying to protect it. Suddenly, a third voice interjects.</p><p>"You know that's going to have to come off, right?" the third girl says at a desk diagonal from Clara, muffled slightly by a book close to her face. The book she is reading is some sort of young adult novel, perhaps a little above her actual comprehension grade. Noticeably, her hair is knit into neat, tight drills. Obviously something her mother must have done, as it's unlikely a fourth grader knows how to use a curling iron that efficiently. "I thought you knew hats weren't allowed in school."</p><p>"Whaaat? Well, I, have only been homeschooled until now," Clara defeatedly replies, not long before she has to swat away at the long haired girl trying to touch her hat again, shouting as she does so, "back off!" It's at this point she simply removes it herself, and holds it in her hand that isn't specialized in shooing unwarranted hat solicitors.</p><p>"Shush it you guys, class is starting soon!" exclaims the girl with the pigtails, lightly slapping her hand on her desk and pointing at the clock, which reads 8:00am. Almost as if on the dime, a young woman walks through the door in time with the morning bell, signaling that school is in session. The short-haired blonde, adorned in a frilly periwinkle dress, confidently walks to her podium in the middle of the classroom.</p><p>"Good morning everyone, I hope you are all enjoying the onset of the autumn settling in," the woman says, audible through the shuffling of children getting their supplies out and slight murmurs. "You all know me as Ms. Margatroid, or Alice, but one of us does not. As I assume you all have noticed, we have a new student with us today!" Alice smiles widely, stretching an arm out to gesture to Clara, who sits in her seat with a face as red as a beet. She didn't expect to be put on the spot like this in front of so many watching eyes. "So, Clara Lapislazuli, why don't you introduce yourself to the class a little? Then we can begin chapter fifteen where we left off."</p>
<hr/><p>A bell sounds off and a flock of children erupt from the doors of the school, all piling onto the blacktop playground for recess. It's a bright and breezy Monday, perfect for just about anyone to exude pent up energy. Amidst the crowd, the quartet of girls from Margatroid's classroom funnel in a pod, eventually stopping at the chalk drawing of a four-square board. They each get into one of the squares, with Clara already having a ball for them to play the game. Before they begin, however, light and distracting conversation gets in the way.</p><p>"Gee, you looked really silly up there, I thought you were gonna start crying!" exclaims the pigtailed girl, crossing her arms over her chest, as if to stifle any laughs. This is the low bar for comedy this one looks to settle for.</p><p>"Yeah, it was really embarrassing," continues the one with the long hair,  "I thought you were gonna die."</p><p>"I was just happy I never had to do that," finishes the bookworm who, unsurprisingly had brought her novel outside, "I thought about leaving so I wouldn't have to watch."</p><p>"Alright I get it! Can you stop dogpiling on me, I've never done any of this before!" Clara shouts, dropping the ball in her hands just so she can pull her hat over her eyes in frustration. At least she's allowed to wear it outside during recess. "Also, I had to introduce myself and I don't even know any of your names yet! Come on, it's only fair!" she resumes, lifting the brim of her hat to peek at the trio.</p><p>"Well, since you asked so nicely," states the pigtailed girl, applying a sarcastic tone where it's not being used correctly, "I'm Sunny. Sunny Milk." Sunny uncrosses on arm so she can offer Clara a hand to shake. Her expression is smug, but welcoming nonetheless.</p><p>"And I'm Star, it's been really fun meeting you so far!" exclaims the long-haired girl, who soon walks a little too close by for Clara's comfort, before outstretching a hand. There's a very chipper and bubbly atmosphere to this one.</p><p>A slight pause occurs, as the bookworm studies her current page with vigor before turning it, then announcing herself, "Luna Child." She walks a little outside of the boundary of the game board, putting her book down on the concrete. Then, just like the other two, she's got an empty palm waiting. Despite her previous demeanor and attempts to look like the smart one of the trio, it's obvious she can't help but crack a grin.</p><p>The hivemind that these three have operated under thus far has, more or less, unnerved the hell out of Clara. She's pretty damn unsure of how to exactly handle the issue of social indoctrination at hand, as she's never been super open with anyone outside of her mom or frequent guests she's seen.  However, as she sees it right now, she has three smiling girls offering to be her friend in front of her, and that's a good of a start as any. Hastily, Clara shakes all three of their hands before bending down to grab their previously discarded ball.</p><p>"It's nice to meet you all, but in a few seconds, you're about to get destroyed!" she exclaims, standing with confidence, holding the rubber ball in one hand and flashing an expression of sheer mania. The other three excitedly line up, anticipating the demonic serve that the new kid is about to lay down.</p>
<hr/><p>It's a little later into the week, Thursday to be exact, and the children are all sent out to recess. As opposed to the nice weather, it's cloudy and muggy outside, the gray hues filling the sky dragging the spirits of children down. Three troublesome girls drag their newly anointed friend into a little grotto under the tube slides, a common hiding spot of theirs.</p><p>"So what're you dragging me here for? Some sorta, um, initiation?" Clara asks, looking at the triad, all three of them having devilish grins on their face, "also, is this safe?"</p><p>"Well, we've decided you're ready," exudes Sunny, her tone quiet, as if this is a covert operation.</p><p>"Ready for what?" Clara replies, raising a brow and steadily growing more and more disturbed. Is this all a ploy to pull some sorta trick on her, or something more sinister? Perhaps a secret occult lead by these three dubious gals. </p><p>"To join us in pulling a prank," Star whispers, struggling with keeping quiet amidst the excitement. Both Sunny and Luna side-eye her, as if she's been a liability with volume in the past.</p><p>"We've been studying Ms. Margatroid since before you got here, and we always needed a trusty fourth," Luna states confidently with a smirk and a thumbs up, "and we think you're perfect." Luna is surprisingly without any literature on hand, emphasizing the sheer importance of this jovial operation. </p><p>Clara goes silent for a moment, her face expressing deep pensiveness. Now <i>this</i> is something more up her alley! She thought this whole time she was going to have to fit in with a bunch of straight and narrow, boring children, but the opportunities with these three oddly in-sync weirdos just keep seeming to arise. </p><p>"Well, here I was thinkin' you were all a bunch of lame-os!" exclaims Clara with pride, who would continue to elaborate if her mouth wasn't forcibly covered by Luna's hand. </p><p>"Shhhh! Keep quiet, we don't want anyone snitching on us! Last time we weren't careful, that tattletale Lily totally ratted us out!" Sunny mutters, putting a finger to her lips and leaning in forward. "But, yes, we haven't known you very long, yet you're the girl for the job."</p><p>"You're smarter than you look, after all Sunny copied off your homework yesterday," Luna adds, receiving a light, non-painful elbow knock from her aforementioned friend. </p><p>"You're also confident, and funny, something we kind of don't have at the moment," states Star, who receives a similar punishment from an opposite elbow. </p><p>"An-y-way, are you in? I hope you're in. You seem like you're in." Sunny says, looking at Clara with wide-open eyes, her other two compatriots following suit. </p><p>Clara's expression went from a one of prideful joy to one she herself wouldn't recognize in the mirror. She feels, off, like something isn't right here. It is not a feeling of suspicion or paranoia, but instead one of being flustered. She's not used to receiving these types of compliments from anyone except her mother, and to be so openly welcomed to intricate plans like this makes her feel like TV static. It's an awkward feeling, but a good type of awkward.</p><p>"I," she says quietly, eyes darting around the faces of these curious pranksters, "you bet your butts I'm in." Clara begins to giggle, a smile on her face so wide it looks like it might strain few muscles. The other three nod at one another and do some victory high fives, inviting Clara in for some.</p><p>"Alright, so, here's the plan. Tomorrow, we're getting Ms. Margatroid <i>good</i>..." Sunny says, the rest of the three leaning inward to listen and provide feedback.</p>
<hr/><p>"So let me get this straight, you and those three other girls set-up a tripwire so your teacher would stumble and spill iced coffee on herself?" Hecatia asks, pulling the car to a stop at busy stoplight. Her tone is pragmatic, making sure everything she's heard is in order.</p><p>"It was Sunny's idea!" Clara exclaims, slouching into her seat a tad in frustration, "all I did was bring the string, plus, we wouldn't have even been caught if Luna didn't totally blow our cover!" Of all stances to be taking right now, Clara chooses the "Yes I did something wrong but almost got away with it" position. "Star didn't even get in trouble, she faked having to use the bathroom, meanwhile the rest of us got sent to detention and had to write a stupid letter." </p><p>"Well, normally I'd be a little more disappointed in you Piece, but," Hecatia mumbles, putting the car in motion with the green light, "I got a lot more to worry about, and this honestly isn't that big of a deal. You're not in trouble with me today, but just don't do it again, kapeesh? I had to move around a very important meeting today to come get you this early." Her lecturing skills would be better here regularly, but right now is an irregular circumstance that she needs to handle with grace. </p><p>"Yes Mama," Clara mumbles, having slouched so much in the chair that she's just about falling out of the seatbelt.</p><p>As if the repose of vehicular progression was seen as too generous, the next stoplight they hit turns red right before Hecatia can floor through. She grips the wheel with enough force that her hand begins to shake, road rage slowly bubbling in her core. Clara looks to her with a concerned gaze, like the history of these two on the road is a laden with anxiety. Hecatia takes a deep breath through her nose, having to compose herself for what she's going to have to say amidst the external frustration. </p><p>"Speaking of meetings, Piece," she says, now tapping her fingers along the steering wheel, "something very important is going to happen on Sunday, and I'm going to need your cooperation, alright?" Her voice is soft and solemn, not doing well in curing the uncertainty brewing with Clara. "I've told you about Junko, correct?" she asks, putting her foot on the gas almost instantly as the light turns green. Fortunately, there's backroads she can take to avoid traffic and hopefully, more raw anger.</p><p>"She's that friend of yours you see every week, right? The one who when you go see, I have to go to one of the neighbor's homes, because you never bring me with?" Clara asks, sitting more upright in her seat. Her tone is flat, herself unsure of where this is going. There aren't many things she could assume given her lack of knowledge, regardless.</p><p>"Yes, her," Hecatia replies, looking to her rear-view mirror before making a slow turn into a beat-up residential area, one of her many shortcuts, "I'm going to be honest, I have not been telling you much for a reason." The amount of sheer panic that's been building up in Hecatia's mind has probably permeated into the whole car at this point, her decision on this matter feeling worse each day. She's helping a friend who is near and dear to her heart, but she fears it'll interfere with her family life. She'd take a bullet for Clara, or rather an entire magazine, and here she goes shoving a wrench in their bond. It's just been the two of them for these past two years, and she's not sure if this is something her daughter would welcome. If it's received this badly down the line, it could cause a deep schism, something that'd tear Hecatia's soul into bits. Yet, the dilemma of letting her best friend be thrown into the flames, alone, is inconceivable. Hecatia takes another deep breath, the air leaving her nostrils in a tremble.</p><p>"Junko, got into a lot of trouble a few years ago, very shortly after I adopted you," she states, looking to Clara to gauge the girl's reaction. So far, it's one of interest, as if this is one huge drama scoop. "I haven't been going to her house and been enjoying time without you, or anything silly like that," she says, each word becoming harder to force out, "I've been visiting her in prison, to keep her company, and keep her sane." Clara's eyes grow wide, as if she's absolutely astonished by this revelation. Tons of questions fill the girl's mind and she's going to try her damnedest to spew them all out.</p><p>"Wait, you're friends with criminals!?" she exclaims, putting her hands on her head, like her mom's been undercover as a crook this whole time, "what'd she do, kill someone? Rob a gas station?" Before Clara can continue on with baseless questions, Hecatia closes a hand in front of Clara's face, as if to say "zip it." The car veers onto the main road again, their home coming up quite soon.</p><p>"Someone took away something very precious from her," Hecatia says, before turning to Clara, "now, if one of those girls, er, Milky or whatever, took your hat and threw it away, what would you do?"</p><p>"I don't know, I'd probably beat them up?" Clara retorts, unsure if she's supposed to hit a right answer here. Her hand pats the top of her head, as if the hypothetical loss of her favorite cap is too much to bear. She's also not bothering to correct any names because, despite having the attention span of a mouse at times, she's locked in here.</p><p>"You'd be angry and act stupid, yes, now imagine that but with your family, if one of those brats at school laid a mean hand on your hair, I'd do the same," Hecatia replies, stopping at yet again, a red light. "Junko used to be a mother, and she lost her son and husband on the same day, because of this someone. And, while I don't blame her for what she did, what she did was still technically wrong, and she's been in jail these past two years." Clara sits in silence, the cogs in her brain turning to put everything together. Her previously curious expression turns into a somber one, empathizing with this woman she's never met. It's a sad story even to someone who might not understand the intricacies behind it.</p><p>"Sunday is her release day, and she's going to be staying with us for a little bit, just so she can get back on her feet," Hecatia continues, tilting her head to the side to get a better look down the road before she passes the light, "as you probably could tell, that's why I was redecorating the guest room earlier this week." Since it's just a straight shot, she thinks it's fine to look over at Clara for a second. She sees her daughter stuck with a bunch of emotions at once. Hecatia's aware that children are fairly egocentric and changes like this will cause them to dwell on what parts of their lives it affects exclusively, even if it is a net positive for those around.</p><p>"Also, I don't know if you're thinking about it or not, but I've known Junko longer than you've been alive," she says, slowing her driving speed as their home approaches, "she's a good woman, and she'd never hurt anyone without a reason. When we go to get her on Sunday, I have a plan to go out somewhere to eat and let you two get to know each other a little better." The mention of food is enough to snap Clara out of her torpor, the topic at hand becoming less dire and more interesting. "Plus, I'll let you pick the place, as you know I don't really care what I shove down my foodpipe either."</p><p>The car slides into the parking lot, taking up it's designated spot amidst the others. Their home has been the same for the past few years, a three bedroom apartment in a nicer part of Gensokyo. The complex itself is pretty cluttered, but the individual places are all rather high brow. Even amongst a varied residency, Hecatia and Clara manage to stick out like sore thumbs amidst the other neighbors. They emerge from the vehicle, Hecatia double checking to make sure Clara got everything she needed. With a click of the fob, the car's locked up, and the duo head inside, ready to waste the rest of the day away. Before Hecatia opens the door to their apartment, she pulls out her phone, out of sheer curiosity. </p><p>"2pm!? That whole mess took an hour, are you kidding me?" she mutters, opening the door for Clara before stepping in herself. Time sure flies when you get stuck at every red light.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Definitely a more loaded chapter than the previous, and definitely a little less heavy. Writing the fairies as silly elementary schoolers is pretty fun, if I'm being forward.</p><p>Also the woe of writing an AU fic and continuing to build upon a world is that every chapter, I feel like I'm going to be adding like six characters, even if some are only just namedropped like Lily White was in this one or Ringo in the last.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Saccharine Daydreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The morning is early, 7:30am to be precise, with the bright autumn sun shining through the few windows in the apartment. The dust in the air is easy to pick out, particles refracting through the rays of light. In a stark contrast, every light in the apartment is turned off, leading to an almost grotto-like atmosphere. A tired and mentally drained Hecatia sits in a chair at the dining room table, chugging an energy drink labelled with bullshit aspirations of instant and longstanding energy. For her, it's just a fizzy drink that prevents her from collapsing when she has to be up these early hours in the morning. Normally on a Saturday morning, she has no reason to be up at this hour, and the most important decision of this year to her isn't until Sunday. She's dressed in a loose pair of pinstripe shorts and faded gray t-shirt, whatever graphic that was on it being just a shadow of it's former self. Her hair is unkempt, and there's a palpable atmosphere of distaste for the mornings permeating through the apartment. The reason for being up at this hour? She expects a guest to come knocking on the door any moment, one who is only available at the ass crack of dawn. Even Clara, the rambunctious ball of energy, doesn't bother to wake up any time before 9am on the weekends.</p><p>Hecatia looks to her phone for what feels like the hundredth time this hour, glancing over at the same 'on my way' message from her expected guest. She didn't respond with anything more than a thumbs up, and plays this game of constantly second guessing herself for not being more obnoxious about getting here swiftly. Maybe she should have also made it clear that she's not bothering to dress up or even attempt to leave the house today. For what feels like the hundred first time of looking at her phone, she notices a simple "Here." message, and to follow is a light knock at the front door. In no hurry, Hecatia lethargically meanders from her spot at the table to the door, peeking through the peephole for a split second before undoing the chain and deadbolt, then opening the door midway.</p><p>"Geez Doremy, what took you so long this time?" she asks, leaning down to look up with droopy eyes at her friend.</p><p>"I had to eat breakfast before I got here, I knew you weren't going to prepare me anything, so I took time to make myself something nice," Doremy responds, using a hand to lightly push the door open, Hecatia giving way. In a stark contrast to Hecatia, Doremy adorns a nice black and white polka dot dress sweater, navy blue jeans, and a red puffball cap. While it's not the epitome of fancy, it's past the "crawled out of bed" level at least.</p><p>"Yeah yeah, anyhow there's a seat for you at the dining table, give me a sec to remember what I wanna talk about," Hecatia says drowsily, her sentence flow interrupted by a hefty yawn, "...as you can tell, I'm running on fumes at this point."</p><p>"They had you working overtime, correct?" Doremy asks, mostly to reaffirm something she'd already known. She takes a seat at the dining table, putting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands, muttering shortly after, "awful timing, really."</p><p>"Tell me about it," Hecatia replies shortly before taking her seat adjacent from Doremy, flattening her arms on the table and resting her head in it, eyes just about completely shut. She'd be at risk of passing out if it weren't for the conversation she needs to have. "One of our new waitresses had a freak out, the registers busted, our lead bartender spilling beer all over the counter, list goes on and on," she rambles, putting up a hand and extending a finger for each infraction listed. Hecatia's job is simple, a lead managerial position at the most popular club in Gensokyo, the Hell on Earth Society. It's a second-shift position that keeps her deep into the night, but fortunately has a good grace period between scooping up Clara from school and actually needing to go. Normally it leads to Clara having to make food and entertainment for herself, which in the past has gone either perfectly fine or awful. It's also lead to light arguments between the two, as she trusts Clara during the night but feels the need to dump the girl at other homes whenever she visits Junko. A little contradiction but, at the end of the day, it seems to be a system that works.</p><p>"Sounds like a nightmare, sorry I did not get your texts earlier, you know how it is," Doremy states, laying one arm down and just keeping her head propped up with the one hand.</p><p>"Early to bed early to rise, every damn day, I still don't know how you do it," Hecatia says, turning her head over and muffling her voice in her arms, "you're psychotic."</p><p>"You know I treasure a good night's rest, keeps me looking gorgeous," Doremy replies, laughing quietly under closed lips, "anyhow, I am sure you have me here for more than just small talk. From what I understand, tomorrow is the big day."</p><p>"And I need to vent my frustrations out, even if it is before eight in the damn morning," Hecatia says, slowly moving her head out of her arms and sitting up with a slouch, eyeing her energy drink can on the table as if it had any liquid left in it. "You've been super, Doremy, and I still need your help," she continues, looking at Doremy with a serious gaze. "Yesterday I cracked Piece the news and, she took it pretty well, I think, I don't know," she rambles, raising a hand in the air as limp frustration, "we're all going to go out to eat tomorrow and if everything goes well, that'd be lovely but... I'm worried."</p><p>"Worried about what? I know you are concerned with the living situation, but I know Junko too, of course not as well, but I doubt this should be that big of an issue if she is only here temporarily," Doremy states, sitting upright to get in better posture for this conversation.</p><p>"I'm just, worried, she's a different person now than she used to be Doremy, you obviously know that," Hecatia says, flattening a hand in Doremy's direction, "when I've visited her, she, understandably, has grown a little, soulless. Deep down I know she's the same Junko I've known all my life but, I'm just not sure."</p><p>"Normally I would say this is a lack of trust but, I never was able to see her since you always took up the meeting slot," Doremy replies, folding her hands in her lap, "she has been cooped up in prison for two years with nothing but her thoughts, and, that does a number on a person." </p><p>"And I'm aware, but the problem was I was never able to really, talk with her about it, like at all," Hecatia states, using both of her hands to gesture a chopping motion. Her face is addled with a mix of frustration, confusion, and somnolence. Doremy raises a brow at this statement, as if this is a ridiculous thing to say. Was there no consoling? Not actual support net for Junko this whole time, just drip-fed small talk for two years?</p><p>"So what you're saying is, you did not question or confront her about the incident, <i>at all?</i>" Doremy pries, a hint of judgement in her voice.</p><p>"Don't give me that, you weren't at any of those meetings, as you just said, it's just that," Hecatia rambles, now running a hand through her tangled hair, "anytime I'd bring up the incident, Chang'e, or anything related to it, she'd... freeze up. Like a full shutdown, and they'd have to cut our meeting because she'd start, freaking out, mumbling nonsense and hyperventilating." Her tone mirrors her expressed frustration, but there's a somberness to it. It's as if she has personally failed her friend and that she will never make up for it. "I don't even know the full story myself, I just know that she literally tracked down the woman and charged like an angry beast. The news gave half-assed coverage of it all, so I just don't know Junko's side," she continues, eyes splitting wide open, hands pulling back the bangs on her forehead.</p><p>"Do you plan to get her side of the story, when she's here?" Doremy says, trying to gauge Hecatia's modus operandi going forward.</p><p>"Honestly, Doremy," Hecatia says, pausing for a few seconds to sit up and stare the other woman dead in the eyes, "at this point, I don't give a shit." There is silence in the room for a moment, Doremy herself being taken aback by this statement. She prays it's just Hecatia's regularly nonchalant mannerisms in play here, as opposed to a lack of empathy. "I think at this point I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing, being there for her now and later," she states, lightly slapping her hand onto the table, "if Junko wants to tell me about it, she can, if she has one of those episodes, I'll be there to help her out as much as I can, but forcing things like this out of her isn't going to work."</p><p>"You had me scared for a moment there," Doremy says lightly, wiping the metaphorical sweat off her brow, "you are going to be juggling a lot, but I am sure you know that." She bears a frown and somber eyes, still not stress-free herself in this case. "I just, have my own concerns," she says, looking around the apartment before finding what she assumes to be Clara's room down the hall, "what of little Clara, will you leave her with Junko when you're at work?"</p><p>"I, yeah, that's another problem," Hecatia says, leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other, "even now, I'd trust Junko with my life, I just don't know what'll happen if her and Piece are left alone and she, freaks out." This is the part of the conversation she'd feared the most, because it's hypothetically the most horrifying part of these upcoming days. "It'd probably scare her senseless, and she's already going through a lot on her own with getting used to school," she continues, "kid got in detention yesterday for pulling a prank on her teacher, I fear if she gets too stressed out here, she'll start taking it out by doing actually harmful things."</p><p>"I doubt Clara would start doing anything out of malice," Doremy states softly, leaning forward to get closer, "she is a wonderful child, and if you need me to look over her while you are unable to, I can." </p><p>"But, what about Junko?" Hecatia asks, "I've thought over this a bunch, and you know how awful of a friend I would be for doing that every time?"</p><p>"What do you mean?" Doremy responds, now at a loss. She looks a little dumbfounded, but curious as to how Hecatia reached this conclusion.</p><p>"Think about it, imagine if I, her best friend, kept saying, 'sorry I think you're not normal anymore and I can't trust you being in the same room as my daughter,' when under normal circumstances, Junko would basically be that girl's second mom at this point," Hecatia explains, each word getting progressively more bitter as she continues. "She'd feel alienated and like I'm treating her as a liability, which I would <i>never</i> consider her as, ever," she finishes, doing a wiping hand motion. </p><p>"So from what I have gathered," Doremy mumbles, leaning back in her chair and putting a hand on her chin, "you think you are stuck managing the feelings and welfare of both Junko and Clara by yourself, but it is not as complicated as you are making it out to be." She gives a quizzical look to Hecatia, who shoots one in return, as if there is some great secret about to be dropped. Rather, it is as simple as Doremy being a way more level headed person than Hecatia, with better dissection skills. It's the main reason why Hecatia even rings her up for this type of advice in the first place.</p><p>"I have told you time and time again Hecatia, you have this problem with not communicating because you think that your words have more power than they actually do," Doremy explains, maintaining a scary level of laser-focused eye contact, "Clara will understand if you simply explain everything to her, she's a silly girl but not a dumb one." Doremy extends her arm on the table, offering Hecatia a hand. Hecatia takes hold and Doremy lightly massages her hand with her thumb. She's got a way with relaxation through touch, enough to keep anyone grounded. "The same goes for Junko, as you said, you are going to treat her the same as always, just keep in touch, she won't act that rashly again, I am sure of it," Doremy says, putting her other hand atop Hecatia's.</p><p>Hecatia takes a few deep breaths, her eyes lazily turned away from Doremy, herself trying to keep calm. Her train of thought right now is like a ribbon taken out of the dryer, steamed and wrinkled. Some parts are kept under the folds, those folds being reality and logic. Doremy's words serve to iron out this ribbon, bring it to order and to clear her head of whatever absurdities cloud it, but not remove the agency. Hecatia's vision goes back to Doremy, continuing to steady her breathing and look at her with levelheaded tiredness. She frees her hands from their light cage, running one through her hair to clumsily straighten out any knots.</p><p>"Take it a day at a time, is what you're saying," Hecatia states plainly, the lack of energy in her voice being a welcome sign over the frantic ranting from earlier. She's surprised she's in one piece sometimes, as while she's not necessarily irresponsible, she's not good with handling stress that threatens her sentimentality. It's separate from working long, annoying nights in a chaotic environment all the time, as the perceived disaster situations in Hecatia's head would threaten the reason she even does that nonsense in the first place. The feeling of juggling a bunch of worlds is what she often experiences, but part of development over time will be realizing she only has to worry about a truly small amount. Hecatia rises out of her seat, the wooden chair scraping against the tile floor below, and lumbers over to Doremy's seat. The other woman joins in standing up, anticipating what's about to happen.</p><p>"Thanks for keeping me from losing it, Doremy," she says, giving Doremy a light embrace and resting her head against her shoulder, "don't know what I'd do without you." Doremy reciprocates with a firmer grip on her end, patting Hecatia's shoulder.</p><p>"You know I am always glad to help," Doremy mumbles, being the one to break their embrace, "my heart has been aching because of what Junko has had to go through, and I want to see Clara grow into a wonderful woman, so I will always be just a call away." Before the two can continue with this heartfelt excursion, the sound of a door creaking nearby, signaling the arrival of a certain third party. Before either of them can even see her pop out, Hecatia speaks up, causing Doremy to flinch due to their close proximity to one another.</p><p>"Mornin' Piece," Hecatia yells, stepping away from her friend for a second to make sure what is conspiring is Clara leaving her bedroom. Indeed, her daughter is out and about, wearing a set of star-spangled pajamas and her favorite pink cap. Not unlike Hecatia, Clara's hair also screams of bedhead, and the kid's general demeanor is uncharacteristically low-energy. By normal Saturday standards, Clara is up fairly early, it not being quite 8am. She looks pretty downtrodden until her eyes spot that, oh boy, they have a guest in the home. Her pace picks up and she walks with a light bounce in her step.</p><p>"Hey Mrs. Sweet," Clara says flatly, slowly waving an hand and bearing a toothy grin, "what're you doing here?" She moves past the two to get to the pantry, about to whip herself up some breakfast. It's just some sugary cereal and milk as usual, but as the box says, it's got your essential vitamins and minerals. Hecatia keeps quiet, going to take her seat back by the kitchen table and check her phone. She's fairly aware of what's going to happen next. Doremy's going to kick into full mother-mode and coddle her own daughter, but that's fine, it's obvious the two enjoy their time together. She's kind of jealous that she doesn't have the capacity for motherhood that Doremy does, even though she's the one who actually has a kid.</p><p>"I am just here to talk with your mother, Clara," Doremy replies, slowly moving to accompany Clara, "and you know you can just call me Doremy. Auntie Doremy is perfectly fine as well." She chortles after this remark, knowing that it's going to make both of the other people in the room wince. </p><p>"I understand," Clara responds half-heartedly, getting the last required ingredient for her breakfast: the utensil and basin to eat it in. With all of it haphazardly shuffling in her arms, she takes a seat next to her mother, beginning to pour her food in the bowl. Doremy follows here as well, taking her seat across from the two. Hecatia texts away at her phone, presumably messaging friends or coworkers about the upcoming tomorrow, or potentially putting out posts on social media.</p><p>"No need to apologize, I cannot possibly get upset with you, Clara," Doremy says, pointing a finger at Clara's forehead on cue, "especially when you're wearing that hat I gave you, I think you look adorable in it." Clara's face reddens, the young girl not quite prepared to deal with her mom's doting friend's bombardment of compliments. The origin of Clara's cap is very simple, Doremy runs a local store that specializes in mattresses and sleepwear. The woman prides herself in rarely missing a night of sleep and believes that some people's mental states have deteriorated just because they don't get enough rest. So, it's just a sleeping cap she gave the girl for free. It's definitely brightened her mood learning that it sees frequent use on Clara's noggin.</p><p>"Thanks, uh, I just really like it, it's comfy," Clara retorts, taking a heavy spoonful of cereal into her face, "I can' wear it ah thkool though." Kind of hard for your grievances to be taken seriously when you got a face full of breakfast, honestly.</p><p>"Piece, chew with your mouth closed," Hecatia states, flipping her phone over and looking over with a lazy expression, "also, what's got you up so early?" Doremy is elated to watch this exchange, keeping a short smile on her face through it all. She enjoys watching these two ramble on, it's nice to see their relationship bloom for how unlikely its formation was. After a few seconds of an awkward lack of dialogue due to the uncomfortable cacophony of Clara's chewing, the kid finally talks with a clear mouth.</p><p>"I was just super tired last night, I had to finish some homework and it was a lotta stuff for math," Clara says, a hint of annoyance in her tone, "long division makes no sense, I did it but I don't think any of it's right."</p><p>"They still have you kids doing that garbage?" Hecatia replies, picking her phone up and shrugging her shoulders, "I thought that woulda died with schools having calculators for you all, geez, I haven't had to think about it since I was your age Piece." To avoid sounding completely incompetent in getting a child to do their work, Hecatia quickly corrects her statement. "Make sure you learn to do it, ask for help if you gotta, do it so well that you don't have to worry about it again," she reaffirms, patting Clara's shoulder, "you know the drill." That's been her general motto with getting Clara through tough lessons, perfect it so it doesn't have to be done again and always seek assistance if it's needed. Hecatia herself was never a scholar and never went anywhere after high school, but she wants to make sure Clara can get past school just fine so she could pursue higher heights. Supportive but not domineering is the path she hopes they go down.</p><p>"I have always wondered," Doremy interjects, putting her heat in one hand, pointing a finger at Hecatia then Clara, "why is it that you keep calling her Piece, you have yet to tell me." It's a little off-topic, but it's been nagging her in the back of her mind ever since she started hearing this nickname a few months ago. Also she's aware it'll keep the conversation lively. </p><p>"Well, Doremy, it's pretty simple you see," Hecatia says, getting a devilish grin on her face. She rarely gets this opportunity, that opportunity being embarrassing the hell out of her daughter. While she may not lavish affection super frequently, she takes any chance she can get when it arises. As if anticipating this, Clara looks away from Hecatia, attempting to eat cereal in peace. "She's my piece of sunshine, a piece of myself," she says, slowly reaching a hand towards Clara's face, "sometimes a big piece of work." She quickly uses her hand to lightly pinch Clara's cheek, the girl grunting in sheer flustered discomfort.</p><p>"Euugh, stop it!" Clara exclaims, getting a few words in edgewise before Hecatia wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close, "I just wanna eat!"</p><p>"Aw c'mon you drama queen, Mama had a long night, lemme have this," Hecatia replies, using another hand to lift Clara's bangs and the brim of her cap upward and plants a kiss on her forehead. She resets Clara's hat, then ruffles the hair below it. After all of this, she lets the girl go and puts her arm back at her side, deciding to leave her alone for now. This is one of those things that deep down, Clara is happy to have, but in the moment she wants to disappear. Fortunately it's just Doremy here today instead of say, one of her recently made friends. That'd be social suicide if she'd ever heard of it. For now, she'll pull her hat over her eyes and continue to burn up.</p><p>Suddenly, as Hecatia looks back to Doremy's spot, she notices the woman has mysteriously disappeared out of it. After a single second of investigation, she sees the other woman walking towards the doorway, without even making an announcement. "Hey, where do you think you're going!?" Hecatia shouts, rising from her seat and rushing to catch up.</p><p>"Oh, the time got lost on me, I forgot there was a new hire at the store today," Doremy says, flashing an embarrassed smile of her own, "I must be on my way." Despite being a cool, collected woman, she's also fairly aloof. Forgetting small things like this is not uncommon for her.</p><p>"Well, even if you did screw up, at least give a warning first, yeesh," Hecatia replies, getting within arm's length, "but, thanks for your help, I'll make it up to you."</p><p>"No need to, just having this unit in one piece will be fine," Doremy affirms, nodding her head from side to side, "and what I said about contact earlier, you better keep me updated too, alright?"</p><p>"Of course, well... good bye, then," Hecatia says awkwardly, quickly pulling in Doremy for a brief hug, "and say hi to Sagume for me, don't think I've talked to her since you two got hitched." She pats Doremy on the back once before splitting apart, waving the woman off. </p><p>Before Doremy departs completely, she waves her arm high to the kitchen, cheering, "see you later, Clara!" Clara, being wiser this time around, waits to not have food in her mouth before shouting across the apartment.</p><p>"Bye Mrs. Sweet!" she shouts, hiding a giggle in her soul as she willingly disobeyed the woman's request from earlier. Wow, what a badass.</p><p>The door behind Doremy shuts lightly with a click, the sound of someone trotting down the halls echoing for just a few seconds, soon filling the apartment with silence with its absence. Hecatia stands at the front door for a moment, tapping her bare foot against the tile floor, thinking to herself. She's not tired enough to pass out anymore and she does need to get up early tomorrow, so there's a demand for things to do until the night comes. She walks to the entryway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall and looking to Clara, pointing a finger at her.</p><p>"Hey, Piece, when you're done eating," she states, having a suddenly very determined expression on her face, "bring out your math homework, I want to learn long division again."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow no line cuts this time.</p><p>I often think about the ending of Visionary Fairies in Shrine where Hecatia squishes Clownpiece's face. It's probably the biggest mom Hecatia moment in the canon materials.</p><p>This chapter was a little longer than I expected to be but ended up being what I set it out to do, a way to introduce Doremy. I'd buy a DoreMyPillow even if it was a scam.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Raw Relief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hecatia stands outside in the parking lot, looking up to the sky above. It’s a radiant Sunday with a biting breeze, a forecast for how she feels the day is about to go. She leans back on her sportscar, spinning its keys on her finger. It’s another one of those small waits that feel like an eternity is passing, each second adding pressure. Her outfit is simple, another black graphic tee with white text, a black beanie. and a set of men’s black dress pants. The tee itself reads, “Time To Raise Some Hell!!!” in a sharp, tacky font. Despite Hecatia’s over-reliance on quirky shirts, it’s a surprisingly cohesive outfit. She checks her phone, a text from Doremy in her notifications and the time reading 12:03pm, three minutes behind schedule. Right when she’s about to reply, a door creaking open interrupts her thought process. </p><p>“What…” she mumbles, before seeing her daughter hurriedly meandering around the vehicle, as if the kid already knows she held the two of them up. As to not slow the process any further, Hecatia gets into the driver’s seat, buckling up and starting the engine. Clara also takes the backseat of the car, leaving shotgun open as if she’d been instructed earlier. Next to her sits a loosely sealed box that just reads the word clothes, packed just for this occasion. Before Hecatia can even start to scold the girl, her thoughts have a wedge thrown into them once again.</p><p>“Sorry, I couldn’t find my shoes,” Clara says, slight annoyance in her tone. Like her mother, she’s dressed simply, in a plain red long-sleeved shirt, blue jeans, and her titular cap. Her case seems like she was more in a hurry than attempting to look passable. Clara is on edge, that is apparent to Hecatia. It’s like when Hecatia has had to take the girl along when she must do some tedious bureaucratic work, such as having to retrieve birth documents or send outgoing mail, but more inherently anxiety driving. Normally she’d say something along the lines of, “don’t give me that tone of voice young lady,” however, today is an exception. She understands that Clara’s going to be stressed, so better not to scorn her for having emotions.</p><p>“It’s fine, you got everything you need?” Hecatia asks, her voice soft and inviting. As she backs the car out of the driveway, she looks to Clara, who lifts the game device in her hand to show. A click of the console’s ON switch hits Hecatia’s ears and a synthesized jingle soon follows it. After a few more seconds of arduous sifting through nearby residents’ parked vehicles, the two hit the road.<br/>
Hecatia for the most part is completely tuned out to the world around her. She’s entrenched in her own thoughts, conscious mind only focused on the road ahead. It’s a drive she’s made over a hundred times, literally, so it’s ingrained in her head like the route to the grocery store. This means that they both can zone out on the longer car ride. </p><p>Fortunately for the duo, they did not have to wake up incredibly early this time around. The day prior, after they’d sifted through Clara’s math homework, the two went their separate ways. Despite her best attempts to make it to nighttime, shortly after they’d finished reviewing Clara’s math homework, Hecatia had passed out in the middle of the day. Clara just spent her time reading astronomy books or playing video games. So, today’s agenda wasn’t tackled whatsoever, leading to a now abrupt and quiet car ride. Or, at least for the first few minutes. As if it were an intrusive thought that had to worm out of Clara’s brain eventually, she feels the sheer need to bring it up now.</p><p>“What did you and Mrs. Sweet talk about yesterday?” Clara asks, turning down the volume on her game so the sound of catchy jingles and an inflating pink puffball don’t drown them out. She’d probably meant to ask this earlier yesterday, but her poor attention span led to her forgetting about it. Hecatia blinks a few times, her lips emitting some sort of onomatopoeia before being mentally able to respond to it. That’s a way to snap her back into things, if only just for a little bit.</p><p>“I’d say it’s none of your business Piece, but,” Hecatia says, cheering in her head as she narrowly avoids a red light, “she was just giving me a hand, I get stressed too, remember?” There’s no better answer than that. Yet, as she is going to be starkly reminded of, her daughter really likes to jump to bizarre conclusions.</p><p>“Isn’t Mrs. Sweet married?” Clara asks flatly, putting her game next to the box beside her, leaning to the side to get a better view of her mom, “I saw you two hugging when I woke up and when she left.” Without Clara elaborating on it further, it’s enough information out in the air for Hecatia to put together what the fuck her daughter means by this statement. Clara has a problem, where if she mulls over something simple for too long, her mind will overcomplicate it into some completely asinine conclusion. </p><p>“We are just friends, have been for a long time, I don’t know where you even,” Hecatia rambles, flustered frustration internalizing within. Of all days, today is the day where Clara’s brain is substituted with glue in this instance. The little demon is perfect at pushing buttons like this, even if it is completely unintentional. “I hug you all the time, why is it weird when it’s with Doremy?” she continues, hoping this is enough to put this to rest.</p><p>“Yeah but you’re my mom,” Clara replies, her own mind jumbled with how to defend herself in this situation, “I dunno, I thought it was different!” This skewed view certainly originates from Clara’s young age and overexposure to media where a simple hug between the two characters meant something deeper. </p><p>“It, really isn’t sweetie,” Hecatia says, finding herself laughing at the stupidity of the conversation at hand. It’s slightly relieving knowing that even under duress, Clara doesn’t clam up. At least, when said duress isn’t related to the girl being in trouble of her own. “If you ever bring one of your friends over, I hope you don’t start huggin’ em, because I am not forgetting this conversation,” she continues, being immediately met with a grunt of exasperation on Clara’s end. She has been given more ammunition than ever before. She also just genuinely hopes Clara gets to a point where she wants to bring friends over, to make sure the girl is functioning well.</p><p>After Clara’s groaning about her mom giving her hypothetical shit for the future, she pipes down and resumes playing her game, giving Hecatia some mental breathing room. The ride itself at this point is rather short at this junction, as the penitentiary is not too separated from the rest of the town. Hecatia uses this small timeframe to ponder about the upcoming minutes ahead of them. Initially, she thinks to freak out, worrying about disaster crumbling this whole operation down; however, Doremy’s words from yesterday keep her leveled. Just be communicative, take it one step at a time, then go from there. The current mission is to simply get Junko, then go out to eat. She’d signed all the necessary paperwork and got Junko’s consent a month ago to be the one who gets her and to have their home be her returning address. Prior to her arrest, Junko had lived alone and with no one to look over the place, her residency was cancelled. So, without Hecatia’s insistence, she’d have nowhere to go.<br/>
“Piece, we’re almost there,” Hecatia states, looking to her interior rear-view mirror to clarify Clara had heard her instructions. The girl nods, fumbling around with something in her game before turning it off, presumably saving her data beforehand. Clara looks out her window, eyes looking desperately for the prison her mother is driving them towards. It comes up rather unexpectedly, as it is a place obscured by the heavy concentration of other nearby buildings, fences, and a minor thicket. As Hecatia starts pulling the car into the parking lot, Clara plasters herself to the glass, trying to get a peek at anything within.</p><p>Clara never streamlined her thoughts to her mother about this whole ordeal. Frankly, the concept of living with an ex-con is exhilarating, even if according to Hecatia, said ex-con wasn’t really at fault for her crimes. She’d never envisioned she’d visit a prison in her lifetime and if it’s anything like TV dramas have shown her, it might make for an exciting time. Plus, she’ll get to boast to her three prankster friends that she got to go to jail. Clara’s not cognizant of the concept of being in danger and envisions herself as fearless. However, the brevity of children tends to trend downward when faced with reality.</p><p>Hecatia parks the car in a crunched visitor spot near the entry gates, mentally swearing at the two people whose vehicles she had to squeeze between. There are a few constants in this world, one of them being Hecatia irrationally internalizing anger over other drivers, as she apparently is perfect. She gets out of the car and moves to retrieve the box from the back seat, Clara following suit in exiting. With the duo on their feet, Hecatia moves beside her daughter, looking down at her.</p><p>“Remember what I told you, be on your best behavior and don’t leave my side, alright?” Hecatia says, putting the box of clothes under one arm. Hecatia says this to infer that Clara is safe with her and that everything will be fine, Clara interprets it as this location being so dangerous that she needs to be protected. Clara looks up with an odd sense of determination, which to Hecatia is odd but reassuring. Last thing she wants is for her daughter to lose it.</p><p>They walk up to a grated doorway to the right of the gates, this being the entrance for visitors or bodies of the justice system to walk through. Nearby is a reinforced glass booth with a woman inside. This lady has tightly knit blonde hair curls and a wide brimmed hat, the intricacies of her clothes being hard to decipher. The woman clicks a button, turning on the microphone on her end.<br/>
“State why you’re here,” she says in a tired voice, like she’s said this a million times in the past decade. Hecatia reaches her free hand into her pocket, blessing herself for her choice of men’s pants today, pulling out a wallet with her license in it.</p><p>“I’m Hecatia, here to pick up someone whose release date is today,” she says, waiting for the old woman to clear her. After scanning her ID, the lady goes to inspect some sort of record book, which likely just has times listed when important things are supposed to happen. The gatekeeper then looks to the box in Hecatia’s arm, noting it in a stern voice.</p><p>“You cannot enter with that unless I inspect it first, show me its contents,” she says, leaning forward to get a better look. For a prison that supposedly has a lot of high-risk criminals, its security is incredibly questionable. It’s an absolute shocker that there hasn’t been a Shawshank-style prison break yet. Hecatia groans, opening the folds of the box and pulling out its contents. Being Hecatia-picked, the clothes chosen are predictable. A graphic tee and jeans with artificial rips at the knees. They’re both notably a size or two larger, made for a taller and larger woman than her average sized, lean self.</p><p>With the scrutiny of an orangutan, the woman at the gate deems the articles to be safe for entry and waves her off. There’s also reasonable doubt that someone who has already taking someone out of prison would try anything ridiculous or rash, especially if they willingly entered over a hundred heavily monitored conversations.  The gatekeeper dials a number on a local landline, signaling the arrival of Hecatia to the penitentiary’s release crew.</p><p>The walk itself is a plain walk along a neatly kept sidewalk, various flowers and monuments aligning it. Every time Hecatia walks along this path, she’s borderline disgusted with how absurd the decorum is. Why make this look like a national park when this is where souls go to rot and die? This isn’t even factoring how huge of a monetary sink this must be. Clara on the other hand is completely immersed with the presentation. It conflicts with her pre-conceived notion of a prison, but still maintains an atmosphere of greater purpose. Plus, she thinks that perhaps the flora cheers up the spirits of those who are imprisoned. Their travel amongst the well-kept grounds is short, as the two come up to a set of heavy blue doors with small windows in them.</p><p>“This kinda reminds me of school,” Clara says, running a finger up and down an inch away from the doors, “same doors and really boring.” She’s realized that perhaps this potentially exciting venture is more bureaucratic than she would have once thought. The stale aesthetics of the building itself are not helping to sate her rampant imagination. Also, the long silences have her feeling anxious, resorting to empty conversation starters to keep herself at ease.</p><p>“Well let’s just hope we don’t see your classmates in here too,” Hecatia replies, this quip getting a giggle out of Clara. She moves to a metal speaker near the doors and clicks a button below it, waiting for a response. It’s an obnoxious process, multi-layer authentication. It’s like having to login with your phone number, just tedious busywork under the guise of security. In just a few seconds, a compressed male voice emits through, the rigid sound quality causing Hecatia to wince.</p><p>“Hecatia Lapislazuli?” the voice asks, knowing the recon from the gatekeeper earlier.</p><p>“Yep, here to pick up Junko,” she says, rolling her eyes, “also can we make this quick, I got my daughter with me and we gotta be places.” Without a verbal reply given, a buzzing noise emits nearby, revealing one of the doors to be unlocked. She opens the door and offers a hand behind her, giving Clara a concerned look. Without words needing to be exchanged, Clara grabs hold.<br/>
Alright, now is when the real exciting stuff happens, Clara thinks to herself. Maybe she’ll be able to catch a few inmates coursing through the halls, or see some officers equipped with all sorts of dangerous weapons nearby. Another prominent example for how an impressionable child can have her own perceptions skewed by the media she consumes, as the reality she now faces is much less entertaining. Plain beige walls and linoleum tiles leading into a various assortment of hallways, of which are obfuscated with their respective “Authorized Personnel Only” doors. No souls outside of these two and a bored receptionist reside in this cramped lobby, a few chairs amongst them. Hecatia, having had enough of talking with strangers, moves to sit in one of the chairs, Clara taking the adjacent seat.</p><p>Hecatia hunches forward and Clara leans back, them waiting for the inevitable result. When Hecatia had signed the smorgasbord of paperwork, she was strictly instructed to come into the lobby at 12:30, of which the clock is ticking towards in this moment. Now that she’s finally waiting here, she’s just now formulating her thoughts in the moment. She’d focused too much on the stress of the future and never took time to truly realize she’s seeing her best friend in person again after so long. </p><p>A woman she’s known since they were teenagers. A woman she would confide in for everything going on in her life. A woman who is so important to her that she was willing to take the time out of her week, every week, for two straight years to visit in soulless domain. It takes being on the cusp of this for her to come to terms with it, and the sudden excitement begins to bubble in her system. It’s a primal feeling of sheer overwhelming excitement that makes a person antsy, enough to unstill themselves in their spot. Hecatia’s leg begins to bounce rapidly in her seat, obsessively cracking her knuckles, even if they become incapable of making any sound. Clara takes note of this, looking over to her mother with a concern. She herself has, admittedly, grown bored since this has been a much more boring trip than she’d anticipated, but has her worries. Clara opens her mouth to ask her mom if she’s alright, as she hasn’t seen Hecatia this nervous looking in a long time, but her words are drowned by the sound of a nearby industrial door cracking open. They look to the source of the sound in sync like curious dogs, seeing three figures enter the scene.</p><p>Unmistakably so to Hecatia, Junko is the woman being escorted in by two armed guards. While the years of confinement have taken a toll on her body, Hecatia recognizes that she is staring at her friend’s first reintroduction to freedom. Junko is an immediate imposing presence in the room, being over a head taller than Hecatia herself, and rivalling the size of the two bulky guards guiding her along. It’s an intimidating enough first impression to get Clara to crunch up in her seat, the young girl thoroughly mortified by this new strange woman in her life. She was brought into the room in a lifeless set of that sweatshirt and sweatpants, topped off with some beat up sneakers. Her deep blonde hair reaches down to her waist in a matted tatter of split ends, showing sheer apathy towards its care. The most damning thing about Junko, is the sheer lack of life in her eyes and heavy bags that toil them. She’s in her early 30’s, yet she appears to have aged a decade in the span of two years. All that time with her thoughts has led to this conclusion, a release into freedom that merely feels like a change in location.</p><p>Hecatia immediately rises, leaving the box on the chair and having to quickly correct her stance to have presentable posture. She wants to run up and squeeze the skeleton out of Junko but must wait these agonizing seconds to watch as the guards fumble with their handcuff keys and give the “you’re free to go.” Her eyes lock with Junko’s, their gaze being enough to gather a mutual understanding of sheer relief to see one another in the flesh, no longer barricaded by a telephone and reinforced glass pane. </p><p>A click of a lock and the clattering of fallen cuffs signify the end of Junko’s involuntary tenure, a guard patting her on the shoulder and giving the all clear. The guards step back to observe and the duo of Hecatia and Junko take a step towards one another. Here, there is no expected leap into each other’s arms, tearfully willing their visceral glee. The relief is unmistakable on both ends, that is for certain, however. Junko puts her hands on Hecatia’s shoulders, leaning her body down to rest her head beside the other woman’s. There is no exchange of words, there is no shedding of tears, merely mutually assured silence.</p><p>Junko is taking in this moment with the intent of making it last. She consciously makes note of every one of her senses triggering. The feeling of Hecatia’s head against hers, the familiar smell of her cheap perfume, the knowledge of getting to see her long time friend whenever she wants instead of one week at a time, it’s a pure bliss that she hasn’t experienced in so long. Junko wishes she could shed tears of joy, but her eyes have run dry. </p><p>Hecatia starts rubbing Junko’s shoulders with her hand, giving a hearty pat every now and then. She remembers her own words from yesterday, that she’s going to be here for Junko every step of the way, for as long as the woman needs it. No matter the toil it takes on her, she will willingly make the sacrifice to ensure a joyous life moving forward for her friend and her daughter. This silent exchange goes on for a solid minute, each of the two at a loss for words. They haven’t been completely separated from one another, but the sudden introduction of physical intimacy in their friendship and the concept of Junko returning to the world at large is hard to react to with words. Hecatia, perhaps hastily, reins in Junko for a very tight embrace, the energy pent up in her system being hard to ignore at this point.<br/>
“It’s been way too long since we were able to do this,” Hecatia says meekly, her voice faltering with a quiver. She’s overjoyed, ready to shoot to the moon in fact. At this point she simply states the obvious, just wanting to have a regular conversation with Junko again.</p><p>“Agreed,” Junko murmurs, bringing Hecatia’s head into her shoulder, “feeling you right now, doesn’t feel real.” They could be at this forever, if it weren’t for one little, caveat, in this reunion. Across from Junko sits a visibly uncomfortable Clara, who is feeling a myriad of emotions. She feels even dumber for her remark about her mother’s hugging habits, while also still feeling suppressed by Junko’s presence alone. It’s as if the pressure of the room has increased with Junko’s entrance, shrinking Clara’s concept of her own existence in the process. Junko’s eyes laser focus on Clara, who begins to shake at her core. Junko’s gaze doesn’t appear friendly to the girl, less so when the woman shoots her a lazy smile. It’s as if she’s encountered a sinister villain plotting her demise with a grin.<br/>
“So, this is your little darling?” Junko asks, putting her hands on Hecatia’s shoulders to nudge her aside, wanting to make her introduction to the girl properly. Hecatia knowingly stands idle, carefully observing the scene. She’s very aware of Clara having a little freakout right now and she prays that it’ll go away if the two just exchange greetings. This is the first of her many possible fears, but as she’s been evaluating, it can be rectified with enough effort. </p><p>Junko walks over to Clara’s seat, staying about an arm’s length away before crouching down. She maintains steady eye contact with Clara, as much as the girl utterly refuses to look at her for more than a second. This bashfulness does not sway Junko to remove the smile off her face, as she is very pleased to meet Hecatia’s daughter. </p><p>“Clara, your mother has told me so much about you,” she says, extending a hand for Clara to shake, her tone of voice and word choice a tad unsettling, “I’ve heard that you give her a hard time, thankfully you've been doing that in my place.” Being conscious of the situation as well, Junko tries letting off a little humor to break the ice. Clara sees the extended hand in her peripheral, raising a hand in front of her face before shakily motioning it to Junko. Clara looks to her mother, as if she has to pick up on some sort of signal. Hecatia merely smiles back, nodding her head like it’s OK. She’s never seen her daughter absolutely frightened of someone before, so she hopes that body language on its own is enough. With the minor reassurance given, Clara weakly gives Junko a shake, her hand feeling microscopic within Junko’s.</p><p>“It’s wonderful to meet you, Clara,” Junko says in a low tone, holding the girl’s hand as if it’s made of porcelain, “I hope we can get along.” A stereotypical statement but keeping it regular is a likely necessity here. Having had mothering experience at, some point, slipping into a comforting tone isn’t very unnatural for her. </p><p>“It’s, uh, great to meet you too,” Clara spits out, her words riddled with anxiety. A kid her age isn’t expected to give elaborate greetings either, especially under a household run by Hecatia. While she’s still incredibly on edge, she’s a little less fearful of Junko, however it’s going to take a long time before she stops finding this woman to be a threatening presence. Her excitement from earlier had been turned on its head when she came across an actual inmate, who apparently is her mother’s confidant.</p><p>This isn’t a perfect introduction by any stretch of the imagination, but to Hecatia, so far it is good enough. Junko has always had the effect of giving people the heebie-jeebies, but this time there’s context to it. Deep down Hecatia knows Junko will mentally fight tooth and nail to win over Clara, not just to appease them but for more ulterior motives. She believes Junko will subconsciously enjoy being able to kick into her maternal instincts again and might dote on the girl similarly to Doremy. Plus, she plans to hold conferences with Clara every now and then, just to make sure everything is alright in her world.<br/>
Hecatia takes a few steps towards the two, hunching forward and putting a hand on Junko’s shoulder, announcing, “you two will have all the time in the world to know each other, but let’s get out of here.” Junko lets go of Clara’s hand, rising slowly. Clara joins her, shuffling to be a little closer to her mom in silence. “I got some clothes the other day for you, they’re in that box, let’s get you out of that eyesore,” Hecatia states with a laugh, pointing to the box in the seat behind Junko. </p><p>Junko quickly looks down to it, her face going entirely blank after she’s greeted with what she’s supposed to wear now. She pulls out the graphic tee, looking at the text on it. “Hell Is a Place Called Earth,” is what it reads, Junko taking her sweet time to observe it. She will never understand Hecatia’s taste in these kitsch shirts, despite knowing their origin being at her club job. Raw disappointment fills her mind, but, it’s nice to be exasperated at Hecatia’s suggestions again. Junko turns back to the duo, her mouth in a wobbly smile.</p><p>“I don’t think I could be caught dead in this,” she says, a weak laugh leaving her system.</p><p>“There were things that suited you better but,” Hecatia states in an eerie tone, “now you gotta wear somethin’ more up my alley, after all I’ve been trying for years.”</p><p>“And I thought I was supposed to be free…” Junko jests, not getting much repose after her statement.</p><p>“Fuck outta here with that,” Hecatia retorts, being annoyed in the moment but elated deep down. Once more, these two could chit-chat into the heat death of the universe, but their stream of combined consciousness is cut short by a now currently impatient ten-year-old.</p><p>“Aren’t we supposed to leave, I’m hungry,” Clara interjects, grabbing Hecatia’s arm and wiggling it by the wrist. It’s like waiting to go to some exciting venue because Hecatia's stuck on the phone with a friend of hers.</p><p>“Ah, yeah, of course,” Hecatia responds, pointing her free hand at Junko, “get changed, then we hit the road.” She looks around, eventually finding a branching hallway that leads to the bathroom. Junko departs from the two, taking the clothes with her, leaving Hecatia and Clara on their own for a short minute.</p><p>“Mama,” Clara says, tightening her grip on Hecatia’s arm, “you said Junko’s not dangerous, right?” It’s a blunt question and she just wants some reassurance that her fears are a little irrational.<br/>
“I told you Piece, she’s a kind person who got dealt an awful hand,” Hecatia replies, looking downward, “you saw, this is the first time she’s seen you and she loves your company.” She bends her knees, getting her face on the same level as Clara’s, her own expression dire. “I am going to ask you do me just one favor, alright?” she asks, moving Clara’s bangs out of her face with her thumb, “don’t bug her about why she was put here, just treat her like you’d treat any of my other friends.” Clara nods and gives an “mmhm,” their conversation cut short by the sound of active doors. Soon after, Junko re-enters the lobby, now adorned in Hecatia’s select, her spares in her arm. Immediately, Hecatia shoots up, almost acting on sheer instinct here.</p><p>“Damn, lookin’ good!” she exclaims, winking at Junko, “alright, now let’s get outta here.” Another case where Clara’s timer of impatience keeps Hecatia from stalling for time, as she’d normally spend a bit too much time admiring Junko here. Even with the unhealthy unkempt hair and visible signs of accelerated aging, Hecatia thinks she’s looking at a model here. For Junko, it’s just nice to be in regular clothes again, feeling liberated. </p><p>As to not give the poor idle lobby receptionist a harder time, the trio quickly make their way out. Clara sticks right behind her mother, Junko being adjacent to Hecatia. As they walk, Hecatia and Junko engage in more idle chatter, Clara observing the grounds once more. They pass the gatekeeper again, who looks like she’s taking a lunch break in her cramped booth. Getting out through the main entrance requires less worry than getting in, so she doesn’t even glance at them as they make their leave. </p><p>Shortly after exiting the gate, they get to Hecatia’s car, Clara taking her seat in the back and swiftly resuming her game from where she left off. Hecatia babbles about her expensive sports vehicle for a moment, it being a purchase she made just in the past few months, also making a remark about how Junko won’t hit her head on the ceiling. They soon get into their own respective seats, Hecatia kicking the car into ignition. Honestly, bless her daughter’s hurried attitude, because she’s also famished enough to eat a horse.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Most likely these are going to come out once a week (or maybe a little longer) as opposed to chugging out three at once. </p><p>I really enjoyed writing this one, hopefully it's a good read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Run The Table</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, what they apparently couldn’t get through their thick skulls was,” Hecatia says, keeping one hand on the wheel while waving her other in the air haphazardly.</p><p>“Hecatia,” Junko mumbles, attempting to interrupt the driver’s constant flow of words, her own tone a little too low and quiet to get the job done.</p><p>“We run a club, not a charity, we don’t have a ‘tab’ for you to put things on,” Hecatia continues, booking the vehicle through a yellow light and cutting off another car just trying to make a swift turn, “you pay up or get out.” </p><p>“Mama,” Clara interjects, her lack of noise control and higher nasally voice being better suited to put a stopgap in Hecatia’s mouth. The girl goes back to playing her game, quietly humming along with the tunes the compressed speakers spit out. Junko breathes a mental sigh of relief, happy to now get a word in edgewise. Hecatia is only moderately motormouthed, until she gets excited, then it’s hard to shut the woman up. Understandably, there’s a lot to be excited about today.</p><p>“We’re going out to eat, correct?” Junko asks, turning to Hecatia with a curious gaze.</p><p>“Yeah, we’re just a few minutes out, place is kinda out in the sticks,” Hecatia replies, turning onto a road which probably hasn’t seen construction in years, causing her to seethe lightly.</p><p>“Where, exactly, are we eating?” Junko says, prodding just a bit more. It’s a somewhat crucial piece of information to leave out, because as far as Junko is concerned, Hecatia could be driving them off a cliff. She’s already a bit miffed about her first excursion in the free world being lunch, let alone lunch in apparently bumfuck nowhere. But, she’s not the one calling the shots today, so she supposes going with the flow is going to have to do.</p><p>“Oh, huh,” Hecatia says, staring blankly at the dashboard and making peace with her error, “place is called the Scarlet Devil’s Kitchen, Piece picked it out for today.” That was the limit of sway she had over her daughter when trying to convince her of this whole plot. The restaurant itself is relatively new, only having been established in the last year. At the end of the day, Hecatia’s paying for it all anyways, so she herself is not picky about what the girl chose whatsoever.</p><p>Clara shoots up, enough to strain her seatbelt. Unbeknownst to her mother, her eyes are glistening with excitement. “It’s this really cool vampire-themed restaurant that Sunny went to!” she exclaims, voice filling the car with fervor thick enough to be cut with a knife. “Apparently all the food is supposed to be like eating guts and drinking blood, and the head chefs are actually just two little old ladies!” she continues, mimicking Hecatia’s talkative nature from earlier, “oh, also they have red lights on all the time, making it look like the end of the world!”</p><p>“Seems like an out-of-season Halloween establishment,” Junko says, trying to stifle a laugh at Clara’s enthusiasm for gore. No filter, she thinks, Hecatia’s own attitude certainly leaving its mark. She looks back to Clara with a grin, this gesture doing enough to get the girl to sit back in her seat. One day, Clara won’t fear her, that’s Junko’s first small goal moving forward. For now, though, the squirt’s gonna deal with this type of interaction for a while.</p><p>“I’m shocked they’re able to run with that gimmick, we get shit for having the word ‘Hell’ in our name,” Hecatia replies with a hint of annoyance, “those guts better taste good, I’m starving.” After traversing over various potholes, she thanks the powers above when her tires tread along smooth ground. </p><p>The cleaner road reveals what’s ahead, that being a bougie enclave which is a stark contrast to the region that preceded it. A large hotel with an impressive courtyard is on Hecatia’s right, a few truck stops and diners on the left. Presumably, this is where tourists come to rest when they visit Gensokyo, a smart location for the Scarlet Devil’s Kitchen to set up shop. People who are too lazy to explore past this point will just gravitate towards it instead of travelling deeper. A bit of a far cry from Hecatia calling it the sticks earlier, it just happens to be further out.</p><p>Speaking of their destination, it happens to come up quicker than Hecatia would have expected. A quick decision must be made, as driving past it means taking up a minute of their time going up the road to take a quick U-ie. She turns the steering wheel harshly enough to swerve the vehicle, borderline drifting it into the parking lot. Junko grabs the coat-hanging bar for dear life and Clara yelps in the backseat, their distress being short lived as Hecatia soon begins to slowly wheels them in. The lot itself is packed, but that’s mostly due to it being small. The building is short and incredibly decorated. Many dark maroon banners plaster the outside of it, covering even the windows. A large black bat wing logo adorns the front, with the letters “SD” in between the wings. Lastly, a bunch of wires adorned with multicolored, plastic crystals span from the top of the building to the ground. It’s an eccentric atmosphere, but perhaps some of its luster is lost because the trio are visiting it in broad daylight.</p><p>“My bad, my bad,” Hecatia says posthumously, parking the car in a tight wedge and quickly getting out, “Piece, careful with your do-.” Unfortunately, her warning wasn’t out in time, as she didn’t calculate a child’s will to erupt outside. Clara basically slams her exit door into a nearby car, Hecatia trapped in time for a second, relieved when no car alarm goes off. </p><p>As Hecatia begins to lecture Clara briefly, Junko gets out more carefully, avoiding the same mistake and taking her time. She looks up to the sky, having a quick moment to herself to feel the air. It’s a beautiful day, one she can enjoy. Unlike being sent out for recess in the prison grounds, she knows this isn’t just a fake repose from hanging dread. Sure, she’s about to cram herself into a supposedly grim eatery and avoid the outdoors for a little while longer, but this is an overall cleansing experience. The brisk fall air feels like it’s clearing grime from her core. It’s a short-lived session of self-reflection, as Hecatia wraps up her singular motherly duty for today and reins her over.</p><p>Once all three of them are inside, they all learn that Clara equating the atmosphere of this building to apocalyptic wasn’t too far off. It’s incredibly dark in the building, nothing but low-frequency red lights allowing any light through. It’s a miracle this place is in business, Hecatia thinks to herself, because how can you get any business if everyone’s effectively blind? Only reason she can make sense of anything is because she’s been working a nightclub for years.</p><p>“Table for three?” a female voice asks from nearby, jumpscaring Clara and surprising the other two. Hecatia looks to the source to find a tall, visibly buff woman adorned in, military gear of all things, standing behind a podium. Already they’re alerted that the staff look just as weird as the building. There’s a nametag on the usher’s chest, but Hecatia can’t make out much more than the first name, “Hong.”</p><p>“Uh, yea, a booth please,” Hecatia requests, completely weirded out by the atmosphere. She’s not scared, just utterly confused. All this showmanship also isn’t leading her to a plate anytime soon, which is all she desires at this junction. </p><p>“Right this way,” Hong replies, bowing her head down before moving away from the podium, opening a set of drapes for them all to walk through. </p><p>Junko and Hecatia walk through with nonchalance, meanwhile Clara lags due to her curiosities. Clara is utterly enthralled with what she’s seen so far, even if the usher scared the figurative pants off her. It’s got that fire and brimstone vibe to it, which fits right in with her own tastes. Hilariously enough, even with Hell practically being Hecatia’s middle name, the woman’s not for this branding. Hecatia’s more into the pandemonium and anarchy type. Junko, frankly, could care less about it, she just hopes the food’s good.</p><p>Past the drapes is a much larger room than the cramped entryway, chandeliers illuminating it with slightly more livable red lights. It gives the air of a restaurant that should have reservations made, but that probably wouldn’t help considering its geographical location. Hong swiftly leads them to their seats, Junko taking one side to herself with the other two cramped into the adjacent one. “Your waitress will see you soon, menus are right there,” Hong says, pointing at a small, single-row &amp; single-column bookcase before leaving. In the bookcase are five books, four of which are menus, the last being an unrelated piece of literature. All three of them take hold of a menu, Hecatia immediately jumping to criticism.</p><p>“I hope they know people come here to eat, not study for their finals,” she says, holding the rather thick menu high in the air. She puts the menu down, opening it to the first page. Just so she can find someone to be upset at, she tries to find names before food items, locating the “writer” of the menu being someone named Patchouli. Who needs a professional writer for a damn menu in the first place?</p><p>“Well, there is a history chapter in here,” Junko replies, having skimmed to a page loaded with mountains of words, “even comes with pictures.” She points to a black-and-white photo of a very tiny woman with a bonnet, it apparently being the founder of this business, one Remilia Scarlet. Hence the name of the restaurant, she supposes. Junko herself is now incredibly curious as to the origins of this joint, enrapturing herself within it.</p><p>Clara on the other hand has forgone the menu entirely and has picked up the extra literature, it being a book titled “Grimdark Rhapsody,” with an ominous cover of black branches in the shape of a ghoul’s face. It’s written by the same Patchouli who’d made the menus, which frankly, is incredibly impressive. She fears she’ll read something she doesn’t understand, like what she’s gauged from her pal Luna, but nothing wrong with getting a head start.</p><p>Hecatia scrolls through her menu, trying to find something appetizing to make her forget about the corny nature of this place. Not so surprisingly, she’s not self-aware in this instance, as Hecatia may be the corniest woman in Gensokyo. Regardless, she isn’t spared from odd names for basic food. Perhaps the blood and guts narrative that Clara’s friend had pitched was moreso restricted to the one or two violent sounding items. Everything else is given a more philosophical name. It’s better than she would have guessed but it’s still annoying.</p><p>Before they’ve quite decided their meals, Junko turns her menu around, showing the two a photo. This image, unlike the one of just the founder, shows two women in a more recent color picture. Remilia is present in this one as well with the same bonnet and a white chef’s coat, the color revealing grayish lavender hair. Next to her is a lady about her size and the same bonnet, but with messier silvery blonde hair and a red coat instead. While they don’t appear too old, the faded hair colors and some wrinkles show signs of age.</p><p>“Isn’t it sweet?” Junko asks, feeling tingly as if this is the most adorable thing that she’s borne witness to, “Remilia was a famous lead chef, but her sister Flandre was struck with an illness at a young age that prevented her from stepping into sunlight.” Junko points at the photos to make sure Hecatia and Clara follow along, knowing that they would never bother to read the passages. It also probably explains why the windows are obfuscated, outside of just theming. “Remilia provided for their family and decided that in their waning years, they’d open a restaurant where they could both spend time with one another,” she continues, putting a hand on her cheek, ready to go on. Unfortunately, her spiel is cut short by their waitress arriving on the scene.</p><p>“Everyone finding everything alright?” the waitress asks, leaning over with an empty platter in her hands. A gargled mass of yeps and mmhms comes from the three. Hecatia eyes their waitress’ attire, then looks around the entire restaurant, realizing that every waitress adorns an old-fashioned maid costume. Yeesh, what a miserable get-up to be in just to get paid under minimum wage, she thinks to herself. Probably gets stuffy.</p><p>“I am Sakuya, I will be your server today,” she states, stiffening up and pulling out a clipboard, “are you ready to order?” </p><p>“Yeah, uh, I’ll have the Megalith Burger, medium-well, no onions please,” Hecatia says, having settled on the least experimental thing on the menu, it just being a regular quarter-pounder cheeseburger. Sakuya scrawls this down, turning to Junko.</p><p>“Hecatia,” Junko mumbles, looking over with a concerned gaze, “how much am I allowed?”</p><p>“As long as you don’t run me like a hundred bucks, as much as you want,” Hecatia whispers back. Junko sits up, closing the menu as if she’d read a few options and memorized her choices a few seconds after cramming a module. Absolute insanity.</p><p>“Can I get a Cromlech Omelet, Sylph’s Salad, and the Mercury Deluge Cake?” Junko asks, the total amount of food probably being why she had to ask if she could order it. Hecatia’s notions of being direly hungry were tossed out the window because it’s obvious Junko could eat a horse right now. An omelet, salad, and chocolate lava cake, a hefty but simple order. Sakuya takes her time writing this down, now looking back to Clara who has just found what she wants. The kid’s been out of it, save for being intensely focused on what she must scarf down.</p><p>“And for you, young miss?” Sakuya asks, leaning forward again to get a better look at her last patron.</p><p>“I want the Demon King’s Heart,” Clara says excitedly, pointing to a photo that was provided at the end of the menu. It’s the head chef’s recommendation, which is a venison steak loaded with spices but most importantly, jerk paste. Unbeknownst to Clara, jerk paste is incredibly spicy and would probably sear her tongue off, but she wants to be the one who eats something called the Demon King’s Heart. Doesn’t help that no one there is really criticizing her choice. If Hecatia’d paid more direct attention, maybe she would have told Clara these things but she’d just assumed it was a goofy name for a steak.</p><p>“Fantastic choice, I shall be back with your orders shortly,” Sakuya says, doing a bow before embarking for the kitchen. Normally, waitresses would take away menus, but considering how they’re more like encyclopedias here, there’s the reason why each booth and table has a little casing for them. Clara and Hecatia put theirs back, Junko continuing to read up on everything.</p><p>As it stands, Hecatia is incredibly relieved with how things are going so far. While Clara is still acting strange when it comes to Junko, she’s not acting like a brat. Meanwhile, Junko is far more chipper than she would have expected. She’d anticipated that Junko would have been distant, but no, she’s been surprisingly, regular. This is like being with the Junko she knew two years ago, which has her relieved. Will things always be this smooth sailing? Most certainly not, but she’s happy that nothing’s figuratively burning down just yet. It’s just nice to see a glimpse of a brighter past.</p><p>“Hey, Clara,” Junko says, leaning forward and putting her elbows on the table, gazing down, “what is that?” Clara, amid the waiting period, had begun to delve into the supplemental reading from earlier. Hecatia doesn’t interfere, praying that her daughter can keep this conversation going without being a little weirdo. Clara peeks her eyes above the pages, using the book to secure the rest of her face. </p><p>“Um, it was by the other books,” Clara says quietly, dodging the question in hopes of fleeing the conversation. Sadly, no dice.</p><p>“I saw it too, but you snatched it before I had a chance to,” Junko states, leaning to the side and lowering her head to get at eye-level with Clara, “seems a little, gruesome, just by the name.”</p><p>“I wish it was gruesome,” Clara blurts out, minor frustration leaking out in her voice, “but it’s all a bunch of boring what-if stuff!” Clara is only a few pages through, but like what Junko did earlier, she shows Junko a set of them, pointing at no particular passage. “With a cool name like this,” she says, closing the book and pointing right at the cover, “why is it so lame?” she asks, swinging on this tangent hard. That’s how Clara’s brain works, having a second mind for silly things to go on about.</p><p>“You have to know the saying, ‘don’t judge a book by its cover,’ right?” Junko asks, already having to stifle a laugh here, as she grows increasingly enamored in Clara’s antics. “It applies very literally here but, you know, I’ll take your word for it,” she says, knowing full well that Clara just tried reading something akin to nihilist philosophy and didn’t understand it. Although, even if she did get what was going on, philosophy is a bore to some people. </p><p>Clara puts the book back in its respective slot, just in time as their waitress has arrived back on the scene. It wows Hecatia and Junko for the sheer fact of how absurdly fast that was, is there actually some devil magic in that kitchen there, or was this stuff all pre-prepared, somehow? Many questions, zero answers when Sakuya speaks up.</p><p>“Here you all go,” she says, handing Hecatia and Junko their plates, herself having no problem juggling everything at once. Clara’s the odd one out for a tad, but for good reason. Sakuya puts Clara’s dish at the edge of the table, taking a step back. Out of seemingly thin-air, or her sleeve, Sakuya pulls out a cutting knife. Flawlessly, she twirls the handle and blade betwixt her fingers for a few seconds before seamlessly launching it at the table, perfectly skewering Clara’s steak lunch. This just about gets Clara to jump out of her seat, as she’s incredibly impressed with the insanity that was just put on display. Lunch and cool knife tricks? It was enough to get Hecatia back in it, at least.</p><p>“Damn,” she mumbles, hunching down to get a good look at Sakuya’s hands. Not a scar on them, impressive. She’s seen tons of wannabe tough guys try and fail at these sorts of tricks before at her job, but this lady in a stuffy servant’s outfit can do something like that? And get paid? Junko herself only reacts with a slow clap, only mildly impressed. Makes one wonder what knife tricks Junko’s seen in the past to be thoroughly unimpressed by this one. Either way, a little bit of flamboyance goes a long way for making a memory.</p><p>“Enjoy, your bill will be paid at the door,” Sakuya says, doing a final bow and scurrying away, needing to attend to other tables.</p><p>“I wanna learn how to do that,” Clara says the second that Sakuya’s out of sight, pulling her meal in close and staring at the knife skewered into it in awe. </p><p>“Noooo way,” Hecatia interjects, glaring at Clara for a second before turning to Junko, “remind me to keep the knives at home higher than she can reach tonight.”</p><p>“I don’t know, it would be impressive to see her do,” Junko replies, putting a hand under her mouth and smiling ear to ear.</p><p>“Yea, see, Miss Junko gets it!” Clara exclaims, pointing in Junko’s direction and looking at Hecatia with bright eyes, like somehow, she was just given clearance.</p><p>Hecatia uses her hand to push Clara’s arm down, tiredly looking at a Junko’s shit-eating grin, saying through her teeth, “don’t encourage her, let’s just eat.” As mildly obnoxious as that exchange was, she’s happy the other two are developing some chemistry. It’s the first time her daughter referred to Junko by name, so it’s a start. Seeing Junko genuinely smile again is also like drugs to her, she can’t get enough of it.</p><p>Before their food gets cold, they start to dig in. None of the three are exactly what would be called gracious eaters, but each for different reasons. Hecatia’s never cared about appearing polite or graceful, Junko’s body is aching in famished fatigue, and Clara’s ten years old. After a few bites in, the conversation starts anew.</p><p>“Eh, it’s alright,” Hecatia says, looking dejectedly at her burger, “can’t say I expected much.” She gazes over to Junko, who looks up to her with a face full of omelet and smidges of lava cake on her lips. Hecatia’s eyes drift down to realize that, yes, Junko has trucked through a good portion of her meal in such a short span of time. This isn’t unusual, as Junko has been able to stomach absurd amounts of food at breakneck speeds before. Before the penitentiary presumably lowered Junko’s diet and other appetite lowering factors came along, Hecatia knew Junko as a pudgier lady. “Don’t let me stop you,” Hecatia jests, waving a hand in front of her before resuming her own dining.</p><p>To Hecatia’s side, however, a different scene is unfolding. Clara’s only been able to take a few bites from her steak. The jerk paste has settled in and is doing numbers on her taste buds, turning her red in the face and welling tears in the girl’s eyes. She sits with her mouth completely shut, lips wobbly and weak from the sheer spicy damage being done.</p><p>“Hey, Piece,” Hecatia says, nudging her daughter to get her attention, “you alright?” Clara points at her platter before suddenly chugging one of the glasses of water down, getting it halfway empty before slamming it onto the table.</p><p>“Hot, it burns so much…” Clara says, sticking her tongue out and fanning it with her hands, as if she’s trying to put out a literal flame instead of a figurative one.</p><p>“Lemme take a bite,” Hecatia says, looking at Clara’s plate to realize how little she’d gotten through. She takes the knife Clara’d been using to cut and runs it through the steak to sequester a small bit, quickly eating it herself. Well, her daughter may be overreacting just a little bit, but it’s certainly got a kick to it. “Hey, not too bad!” she exclaims, looking at Clara, “I’ll trade ya.” A half-eaten burger for two-thirds of a steak, truly a reflective look into economics. Clara nods her head side-to-side, refusing to let down from the challenge of consuming the inferno of this hypothetical Demon King’s blazing core. With that failed trade exchange, they continue dining.</p><p>Hecatia’s the first to wrap up, considering she got probably the most mundane treat of the three. To help kill time, she whips out her phone and checks for any messages she may have received in the past hour or so. Not so surprisingly, she’s received a text from Doremy in the past few minutes. Not being one to leave her hanging for too long, she gets to responding.</p><p>[Doremy]: Is everything coming along smoothly?</p><p>[Hecatia]: going great, we’re eating rn</p><p>Almost instantly, she hears back. She assumes Doremy’s either home or on break. It will also never stop baffling her as to why Doremy speaks and texts like a geezer, despite them being the same age.</p><p>[Doremy]: That’s lovely, how is Junko holding up?</p><p>[Hecatia]: she’s a bit of her same old self atm, check this out</p><p>In this instance, unbeknownst to Junko, she takes a very unflattering photo of the woman going to town on her lunch and sends it.</p><p>[Hecatia]: ha</p><p>[Doremy]: How endearing. I assume her and Clara are getting along fine?</p><p>[Hecatia]: piece is a lil scared of her but its looking better, junko’s always been good with kids</p><p>[Doremy]: Fantastic. I will ask more later, but Sumireko is calling for me, so I suppose my time is up.</p><p>[Hecatia]: who?</p><p>As swiftly as it began, their chat has ceased. Hecatia slides her phone back into her pocket, glancing at Clara and Junko, who have both just about finished up. In the time that it took for Junko to devour three separate items, Clara finished a relatively small steak and still looks to be in recoil. Junko uses a napkin to wipe her face, disposing it on top of the plate. </p><p>“Whew, I’m stuffed,” Junko says, leaning back into her booth with content oozing from her system. It’s felt like forever since she filled up like this, but it feels like nirvana. The feeling of stuffing yourself then subsequently passing out is one of guilty success. As she sits here, she finds herself drifting off.</p><p>“Gee, I wonder why,” Hecatia replies, beginning to stand up, her ass feeling sore from doing nothing but sitting down in uncomfortable seats for too long. “Anyhow, let’s go, I’m getting antsy,” she says, stretching her arms. Clara shuffles out of the seat, gasping for cold air to stymie the spice taking control of her face. She’s also at the point of wanting to lay down and screw around on her lonesome. Junko’s the last to rise, lumbering to her feet, teetering slightly. Yeah, this is the hallmark of a bunch that wants to go home, Hecatia thinks. Leading the way, she and the crew go to the pitifully lit reception desk and confer with Hong about the bill. It’s hefty, but nothing she can’t cover, and she’d prepared far ahead of time for it. As always, she leaves a nice tip for Hong and Sakuya. Having gotten her start as a waitress, she can sympathize well with their plight, especially in a place she deems as tacky. Once again, lack of self-awareness.</p><p>The car ride back home is long and incredibly uneventful. Clara keeps her trap shut while playing her game and Junko just about passes out with her head on the window. Hecatia doesn’t exactly mind either, her brain feeling exhausted itself. She still has to show Junko the place too, which may have to wait for later if her friend is still this tuckered out when they get there. </p><p>Overall, Hecatia would consider today’s mission a success. There are kinks to work out, sure, but it’s a good sign going forward. Junko, for lack of a better word, behaved. A horrifying episode like she’d seen a few times during past prison visits didn’t occur, she integrated well with her and Clara, and she looked to be enjoying herself. Hecatia knows that going forward, things will not be this smooth sailing. Something is bound to happen and while she dreads the day, she’s going to do all she can to prepare for it. Her objective has been to ensure a better life for her friend and family, and she’ll chase it with full-throttle determination. </p><p>These thoughts occupy her mind for the better part of the long drive, herself not having much else to think about. She hopes that Junko passes out far into the day and that Clara keeps to herself, mostly so she can get on the right foot starting Monday tomorrow. From today’s forecast, that looks like it’s going to be the case.</p><p>After a trip of almost complete silence and a lack of vehicular infractions, Hecatia rolls into her typical parking spot, wasting no time in getting the hell out of her car. She contemplates going on a walk or something because she’s done with sitting down. Clara jumps from her seat, rushing into the apartment complex, readying herself at their door before the other two have a chance to catch up. Sucks that she doesn’t have her own set of keys. Junko, once again, keeps her urgency low and movements slow, taking her sweet time to step outside. </p><p>“Cruel…” Junko mumbles, rubbing her eye with her knuckles, “it’s wonderful out here but I want to be in there.” With every second that passes, Junko’s capacity for staying awake wanes. She’s not normally a sleepy customer, but a buildup of circumstances has led to such this fine afternoon. </p><p>“You’re ready to drop,” Hecatia says, moving in front of Junko, standing with her hands at her hips. </p><p>“Definitely,” Junko replies, walking lazily in the dust trail Clara had left behind, “if you could show me where I can rest, that’d mean a lot.”</p><p>“Just follow me, also lean on me if you’re gonna fall down,” Hecatia says, completely jovial with the lean remark. It’s just when Junko actually begins to do so that it catches her off-guard. Not knowing how to efficiently respond, she holds Junko like she would carry a drunk friend out of the club. </p><p>“Mmmmfh,” Junko says, muffled into Hecatia’s shoulder, her weight becoming heavier on Hecatia.</p><p>“Come on I get it, you’re drowsy,” Hecatia says, using a free hand to open the first door in front of them, “you sleep where you fall.” Junko chuckles, seeing some hilarity in the situation. The intrusive thought in her head screams to collapse, but it’s swiftly ignored by the dire need to sleep somewhere comfortable. </p><p>They arrive at their apartment, Clara waiting impatiently by the door. If the kid had enough gall, she’d have greeted them with something along the lines of “took you long enough.” Fortunately, she’s only been raised to be a smartass at appropriate moments. Hecatia putzes around for a second, having to reach into her pocket for the house key and prevent a larger woman from toppling over. Shortly, she accomplishes the task at hand, and la casa de Lapislazuli is open.</p><p>Clara blitzes inside and to her room, leaving these two to their devices once again. Hecatia closes the door behind them, Junko immediately separating from her once she does so. Why she didn’t do that earlier, Hecatia may never know.</p><p>“If you saw where Piece just skittered to, it’s the room past that,” Hecatia says, pointing down the hall and leaving Junko to solve this on her own. Junko leisurely walks in accordance with Hecatia’s directions, the other woman following close behind. Once she breaches this door, she’s greeted with a room just like how Hecatia had described it to her multiple times these past two weeks.</p><p>It’s a small bedroom with a queen-sized bed smack dab in the middle, a moderate sized dresser across from it, and of course the oodles of posters decorating the walls. From when they were in high school to their mid-20s, the two had travelled and attended various concerts and shows together. While they never were individual musicians themselves, music was a way they bonded. That and being bitter towards others that weren’t in their little clique at that point in their lives, but that aspect has been separated from long enough.</p><p>Junko would inspect and reminisce more, but for whatever reason, the bed seems to have grown legs and is drawing close to her, tempting her like a seductress. With a thud silenced by memory foam, Junko has completely crashed, legs dangling off the side of the bed slightly, head face down. Hecatia wants to cackle with her entire soul, but she best decides to keep her trap closed for now. She closes the guest room door as she leaves, praying that down the line Clara will get the memo about the sleeping beauty. Before she sets out to do, whatever, her phone buzzes in her pocket.</p><p>Ah, a reply from Doremy, took long enough.</p><p>[Doremy]: Sumireko is our new hire that had me out in a jiffy the other day, she is a very strange young girl.</p><p>[Hecatia]: neat. by the way junko likes the spare bed you gave us.</p><p>She stands there in contemplation, wracking at her brain for what to do next. OK, if she’s quiet enough, she can get another photo of Junko to send.</p><p>Here goes nothing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>One day I might explore the concept of old lady Scarlet sisters more but today is sadly not that day.</p><p>Another chapter that wound up longer than I planned but I'm not complaining. I do enjoy writing dialogue.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cell Strain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Duty has called, as the time for rest has come to an end. Junko’s eyes flutter open, having to be manually cleared as they’d been coated in a thick layer of dried rheum. Her body aches, urging her to move before her muscles go insane with boredom. A thick fog coats her mind, having to recollect her current situation. Her dreary eyes locate a digital clock on an end-table by her bed, the numbers reading 7:38am. The knowledge that she’d slept around sixteen hours sounds both asinine and completely reasonable. Having returned to an old habit of eating then crashing after much needed liberation will do that. Helps that her bed is surprisingly lush and comfortable.</p>
<p>Junko had a sequence of sleep that was disturbingly regular. No time spent in a fantastical land of dreams nor suffering at the hands of a brutal nightmare. It was as if she’d leapt forward by just a long blink. It was one of those rests where you wake up feeling as if you’d been punched in the chest, but it’s refreshing in that odd sense. In Junko’s case, it’s very welcome, as she’d been experiencing nothing but gut-wrenching horrors in her sleep for quite a long time now.</p>
<p>She sits upright, stretching her neck and arms as she does so. The room itself is dimly lit, a drape-covered window being its only source of light. Now is the moment she pays attention to the sound around her: nothing but the pitter patter of a light rainstorm. No commotion outside of her room, which leads her to believe that Hecatia and Clara are not home, presumably to get the child to school. A bit early to leave, she thinks, but she vaguely remembers Hecatia telling her the school was a long drive from here.</p>
<p>Since she’d been working with a hollow brain the day before, she’d crashed before she even got a chance to survey her temporary bedroom. As advertised, there is plenty of paraphernalia on the wall from her and Hecatia’s past ventures, said posters being in a pristine condition. Another thing she notices in the room is a standing mirror on the wall, hung high enough and tall enough to get her body in frame. </p>
<p>Junko sluggishly gets on her feet, having to crack her back to get into a limber form. She takes a few steps towards the mirror, now looking at herself in this muted environment. </p>
<p>First thing is that she somewhat forgot she didn’t change out of Hecatia’s questionable fashion choices for her, which is impressive as it means she’d slept as long as she did in jeans of all things. Secondly, and certainly less hilariously, is her figure. Mirrors were only small and head-level in prison, so she never got to analyze changes to her body save looking downwards. Junko lifts her shirt, contemplating for a second before just completely removing it. It’d felt baggy earlier and no wonder why, Hecatia had bought it for a woman who was a size or two larger. She moves her body around some, attempting to get a full look of her arms, back, waist, etc. It takes being at this junction to realize she really has been malnourished over these past two years, a lack of hearty food doing its number. No wonder she unnerves Clara so much, she looks like a banshee with her scraggly body and untamed hair. </p>
<p>After Junko grows completely sick of looking at what she’s become, she decides it’s probably best she change her clothes. Staying in the clothes she’d slept in for that long would develop a funk otherwise. She goes towards the room’s dresser, sifting through a few drawers to grab a change of shirt and pants. Underwear’s a different story, that’s just going to be a private matter she brings up with Hecatia later today. </p>
<p>Fortunately, not every article of clothing in this dresser is hand-picked from Hecatia’s select, as Junko believes the other woman tried to shop for a different person for once. It’s all mostly plain, all with an assortment of blacks, reds, and oranges. She chooses an orange turtleneck with black leggings, anticipating that it’s going to be at least somewhat chilly today. Plus, orange and black has always been her favorite color scheme, which means Hecatia probably had that in mind when filling this dresser. Everything’s still a bit large, but she can manage for now.</p>
<p>Junko frisks around a little more, eventually finding a hairbrush in a smaller drawer. With that, she can finally get to fixing her mass of hair which has certainly seen its damage. She stands back in front of the mirror, comfortable now that she’s dressed sensibly, and gets to brushing. It is an incredulously painful experience, as having hair that is borderline disgusting down to her waist means there’s bound to be difficulties getting through it all. Knots, tangles, matting, all come together harmoniously to give this hairbrush the challenge of a lifetime. </p>
<p>As she mindlessly tugs away at her hair, Junko’s mind begins to wander. Yesterday had been such a lovely excursion, as it was like a long-deserved vacation. However, like a vacation, the recreational joy was only temporary, and she’d be facing a harsh reality once more. Yet, her harsh reality in this case is a return to normalcy. A trudge from rock bottom to the rungs of society once more, going from deep in the red to net even. Most people would laud a boring life, but her time in a soulless penitentiary with nothing to do but contemplate the tragedy that tore apart her very being and her own recklessness means that she’ll take normal one hundred times out of one hundred. It’s going to take time for her to get back in the swing of life, having forcibly being thrown in the mud under it for so long. </p>
<p>She is far aware that she won’t be able to adjust efficiently. As it stands, she’s jobless with not many skills to her name. A general education degree is under her belt and she is best friends with one of the most socially influential people in Gensokyo, but prison time and mental instability tank that resume viciously. While she is confident Hecatia rakes in enough income to support her and not veer from her own life path, she couldn’t live with the feeling of being useless. At this point, she is exasperated with her own thoughts, that could potentially be that back-breaking straw.</p>
<p>Another thing that crosses her mind is the pint-sized elephant in the room. Junko desperately wishes to get on Clara’s good side, for various reasons. The primary one is that the girl is her best friend’s daughter and she, by proxy, wants to see her grow into a fine woman. The secondary reason is to make sure the girl isn’t stressed about her existence here, which is a sentiment that she could get just from Hecatia’s mannerisms at lunch yesterday. Lastly, and not one she herself is very conscientious of, is that she has a hole in her heart. Having had a son who was unfairly ripped from this world would result in yearning to fill that motherly need, even with a kid she’s just met. </p>
<p>After way too much time, Junko has finished brushing her hair into a passable rag atop her head. It’s still riddled with frizz and split ends, but it’s presentable. The brush in her hand is coated in shed strands of brassy orange hair. She recalls to what her hair used to be. Down to her shoulders and plush. She’d been a much softer looking woman before, despite her stature. With that out of the way, she’s determined it’s time to get out, make breakfast, and find a way to kill time. She leaves her room, being greeted with the kindlier lit hallway. It’s the least decorated part of the home, white walls just leading into two other bedrooms and a passage into the living room and kitchen. </p>
<p>She meanders into the living room first, gauging the specifics here. A couch and loveseat with a TV station set up, with some sort of game console dragged along the floor. For as long as she’s known Hecatia and from her first impressions with Clara, she would have expected this place to be quite disheveled. However, expectations are made to be shattered, so the overall cleanly nature of this home so far has been a pleasant surprise. Hecatia still acts the same, but her vices look to have dwindled. Perhaps it comes with raising a kid. </p>
<p>Despite consuming a ton the day prior, Junko’s stomach growls at her to sustain it with something, so her time in the living room is short lived. Her trek into the kitchen is halted short by a note on the kitchen table. It’s in a familiar scrawl, Hecatia’s questionable handwriting sticking out like she remembers. Funnily enough, some neat fonts bleed through it, looking to have been written on the back of one of Clara’s old homework assignments.</p>
<p>“I left to drop Piece off at school. I’ll be home a little later because I got errands to run, help yourself to anything in the pantry or fridge. See you soon!” it reads, brief and to the point. It’s the only form of communication they have at the moment, making her feel she’d received a message via carrier pigeon. While some specifics would be nice, like exactly when Hecatia would get home, it’s not the end of the world. Ultimately, it’s clearance to do whatever she wants for breakfast, but with some assumed restraint of course. </p>
<p>Junko rummages through the fridge in hopes of finding something easy to make and appetizing. From what she sees, there is a surplus of leftover food in Styrofoam containers, presumably meals Hecatia never finished from work. However, there is a decent amount of ingredients and sandwich materials, the main one sticking out to her being eggs.</p>
<p>Eggs should be easy to make. She thinks about taking the scrambled route, it’s just whisking and cooking over a stove. Throw some salt and cheese on it and it’s just a nice, hearty breakfast. She grabs a bowl and frying pan from nearby cabinets, cracking a few eggs into the bowl and beginning to whisk. With another mindless task at hand, she turns her attention to a small television propped on a countertop in the kitchen, playing the local news with the volume muted. The headline for this morning is about a town hall meeting from the day before, premiering a disabled politician who’d given a riveting speech in front of an uneasy crowd. This woman, Okina Matara as the news reports, looks too familiar. Junko had already spent too much time looking in the mirror, so she’s going to divert her eyes away from the TV. </p>
<p>The eggs have been beaten to a nice murky yellow, a sign that they’re ready to start cooking. She places the bowl near the stove, turning on the heat of a burner and putting the pan atop it. Her mind wracks at itself, as if she’s forgetting something… Oh yeah, the pan needs to be lubricated so that the eggs don’t get stuck and char. Swiftly, she retrieves a stick of butter from the fridge, cutting a smidgen off on the toasty brim of the pan, then putting the butter back in the fridge. After just a few seconds, an all too welcome sizzling begins to grace her ears.</p><hr/>
<p>“Hold on for just a minute you two, I can’t get these to cook any faster you know!” she exclaims, leaning her head back to face her family. Lighthearted laughter fills the room, soon muffled by a kiss between husband and wife.</p><hr/>
<p>It’s been a while since she made breakfast, Junko thinks to herself. This sizzling is an indistinguishable sound, one that doesn’t leave the brain after hearing it once. It’s the surefire sign that your stove is hot and ready to roll with. She looks at the bowl of whisked eggs to her side, knowing that she should put them in when the butter completely melts. This is similar to riding a bike, do it once you know how to do it a thousand times.</p><hr/>
<p>“Enjoy, Houyi,” she says, smiling warmly as she hands her husband his favorite breakfast, a few hardboiled eggs with a cavalcade of spinach, diced peppers, and tomato. Before even saying his thanks, he goes to eat, as if a beast in his gut was beckoning for a snack.</p>
<p>“And for you, my little Akiko,” she continues, serving her son a much more rudimentary plate of scrambled eggs and toast, squeezing his cheek soon after. The little boy’s mouth opens to speak, to give his thanks to his mother for the meal.</p><hr/>
<p>Junko’s hands slam on countertop in front of her, one hand barely avoiding searing itself on the burner, the other by the bowl. Her eyes split open, continuing to stare at the now evaporating oils on the pan, barely making out a reflection on the grease. That was the last time she recalls making something this simple. Her nails claw at the slabs they’re on, trying to desperately cling onto anything. Her breathing hastens, each exhale growing shakier and shakier. </p>
<p>His voice.</p>
<p>She can’t remember his voice.</p>
<p>The voice of her little darling who had given her purpose and joy in life, is lost on her.</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t be surprised.” “I was an awful mother who let the best thing happen to me slip away, of course I’d lose sight of him after only two years.” “I was dumb for believing something that pure deserved to come my way.” “I can remember what he ate but not his voice.”</p>
<p>Thoughts like these flood Junko’s mind and leave her no room to breathe.  Her hands ball up into tight fists, threatening to denature her knuckles if she continues. The butter that had been in the pan has long since boiled away, any lipids left over burning into the pan itself. She wants to scream, sob, anything, but she simply doesn’t have it in her anymore to emote such feelings. There’s no point in crying over something sentimental if you don’t believe you deserved in the first place, she thinks. More so, it’s a fact of her tears running dry, no longer having the energy to exude these types of emotions.

</p>
<p>Her mind being so separated from her body, Junko doesn’t realize her own body’s weight for a moment. The arm that is near the egg basin reels in quickly to do who-knows-what but knocks enough force against the bowl to knock it off the counter. Being a pebbled bowl, instead of shattering it spits out all its yolk contents and rotates loudly along the tile floor. This serves to knock Junko out of her anxiety-induced episode but does not subside her panic completely. Now she’s trapped with a disoriented mind, sorrowful heart, and a mess to clean up. Junko’s gathered her bearings, but only slightly. She supposes that there’s a more pressing issue at hand, yet there’s a dire need to cool off. She's decided that leftovers will do for this morning.</p>
<p>She can’t quite remember, was making eggs always this hard?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>An intentionally shorter chapter. Junko's son's names isn't exactly canonized so I scrounged up one that could thematically fit &amp; sound somewhat similar to her own. </p>
<p>Slightly unrelated, but I'm excited for the 17.5 demo coming up soon. Game has a super unique artstyle and the gameplay looks super unique. I wonder what other characters they'll reveal for the game.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Low Kelvin Excursion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bell tolls for the early afternoon recess. The light rain from earlier in the day had subsided, leaving a misty atmosphere of gray stratus clouds pierced by harsh sunlight. Children that had feared their time outside being soiled by the prior weather rush outside, gleefully enjoying their time in the puddles left behind. Two young girls in particular are in a hurry to claim an elusive spot on the swing set, the limited supply of them meaning that its always a contested zone. Fortunately, luck is on their side today, and they claim two adjacent, nearby swings.</p>
<p>The duo consists of Star and Clara, these two being the scraps of their quartet. Luna’s grades were too subpar, so she’s stuck inside catching up on work.  Sunny came down with a cold over the weekend, leaving these two to dawdle around. Out of the trio of girls Clara had acquainted herself with and joined in a fairly unspectacular prank, Star has always been the one who weirds her out the most. Sunny and Luna are very straightforward girls, one is rambunctious and the other is snobbish, but for the life of her, Clara can’t get a read on Star. Star will sometimes just, say things that very obviously weird the group out. Also, she has no grasp on personal space and often breaks Clara’s bubble.</p>
<p>Clara’s dressed in her usual sense, a mishmash of clashing colors with a red pinstripe jacket, long blue skirt, cartoony shoes, and her titular cap. Star on the other hand is dressed very nicely in a puffy, periwinkle apron dress and white blouse. Come to think of it, Clara finds that all of her friends dress up like little dolls frequently, something that she won’t understand unless she met their parents. It’s also strange to her since, well, they’re kids, those nice clothes are gonna get mucked up and dirty just in lieu of messing around outside. </p>
<p>For a few seconds, the girls sit in a silence, Clara’s train of thoughts keeping her uncharacteristically quiet, her eyes scrutinizing the girl beside her. Star, not being stupid, catches onto this, and decides to speak up.</p>
<p>“You never finished telling me about the Scarlet Devil Kitchen,” Star says lightly, clapping her hands together, a common tic of hers. Even on a swing where her hands are best placed on the chains to prevent her from falling off, she still manages to do so.</p>
<p>“Oh, uh, yeah,” Clara says, snapping back to the reality at hand, “as I said, I went there with my Mama and her friend, and the place was suuuper scary, all the lights were dark and red!” She puts on a smug expression to hopefully bury any psychoanalysis from Star’s end. Some of its genuine, because only Sunny had visited the place prior, so she gets to flex her experience.</p>
<p>“Do they really sell guts like Sunny said?” Star prods, bearing an aloof smile as she says this, “Sunny likes to lie a lot, it’s just that Luna never realizes it, and I find it funny.” This is an example of a statement that sets Clara off. Like, what’s the point of revealing this little factoid to her? Makes her feel like she’s walking on eggshells around this girl.</p>
<p>“Well, no, actually,” Clara mumbles, wishing they kept on the topic of guts and only guts, “all the food has names I didn’t really get, but I did eat this really spicy steak, my mouth burns just thinking about it.” Her exclamatory nature ditches for a second, brain working overtime to make sure she doesn’t wind up on Star’s mental list of weirdos. It also has her wondering the truth of Star’s statements. She’s aware that Luna is way duller than she lets off, but has Sunny actually fibbed to her something that she’s been clueless about?</p>
<p>“I knew it,” Star states with utter confidence, rocking her lower body to slightly get the swing started, but not actually get any notable height. It’s this instance that Clara has finally had enough and she must get in this girl’s head for some answers.</p>
<p>“Hey so, what has Sunny lied about before?” Clara asks, doing the same, somewhat wanting to soar due to a need to move.</p>
<p>“She likes to lie to make herself sound good, I think she has issues,” Star replies, huffing slightly as if she’s a mother upset with her child, “when she does it, it’s super obvious, she stops looking at people.” It’s here where Clara finally realizes exactly why things about Star bug her: this girl is really good at picking people apart and is incredibly blunt on top of it. This isn’t new territory, her mother does this sort of thing to her all the time, but Star is just her classmate, a kid just like herself. It also sparks the revelation that, no, Sunny probably hasn’t lied about anything important, because Clara distinctly remembers her determined expressions when they collaborated on their scheme. Whew, getting to know people again is a lot of work, Clara thinks.</p>
<p>“Weird,” Clara says, not knowing what else would be a good response right now, “guess I’ll have to look out, I can tell her to knock it off.” Even though she’s a subordinate part of their trio, Clara would not be opposed to taking the leadership position of the group. In spite of Sunny’s blind confidence, Luna’s stuck up attitude, and Star’s ability to just read people, she suspects all three aren’t exactly leadership material. Plus, being loud and actually being affluent for her age would help. That’s how the social ladder works, she believes. Reminds her of how her mom talks about frequent members or coworkers.</p>
<p>As the duo are just about to get rolling on the swings and talk an actual, regular conversation between fourth graders, they are approached by a presence unknown to Clara and a presence unwanted by Star.</p>
<p>A shorter girl with light blue hair, a complementary blue bow, and a set of denim overalls stands in front of them, timing her entrance perfect with their momentum. Can’t make yourself known when the hurdling body of a child on a swing can threaten to shatter your skull. To Clara’s dismay, they both come to a halt, setting their feet in the woodchips. </p>
<p>“Can I help you?” Clara asks, not long after being followed up by Star, who speaks in a rare, tired tone. She has no clue who this person is, because she’s not in Ms. Margatroid’s class like her and Star.</p>
<p>“Hey, Ci-“ she squeaks out before getting rudely interrupted by this girl rapidly opening and closing her hand in Star’s face.</p>
<p>“Uhuhuhuhuh, I don’t wanna talk to you,” the girl says, using her other hand to point at Clara. “You, new kid with the dumb hat.”</p>
<p>“It’s not dumb,” Clara replies defeatedly, feeling such a simple insult hit her core, “what do you want?” In just a few moments, this stranger has left an especially nasty taste in her mouth. This is someone she feels like she’ll end up calling a bitch in the future, whenever she’s allowed to swear.</p>
<p>“I see you’re hangin’ out with the small fry,” the stranger states, pointing at Star, “typically there’s three of ‘em, y’all get into a fight or something?”</p>
<p>“Small fry?” Clara questions, rising to her feet from the swing so she can stand up straight. Comparatively, Clara’s an early bloomer while her adversary here is a tad behind, leading to a noticeable height difference, “kinda funny, you’re the short one here.” Clara puts a hand at her shoulder, which matches the head height of the stranger. “Speaking of, shorty, who even are you?” Clara asks, exuding the same energy that attracted her bellwether friends to her in the first place. Star is very amused by their interaction, watching quietly with wide eyes.</p>
<p>“I,” the girl says with a slur of befuddled noises under her breath, visibly seething at her apparent authority being challenged, “I’m Cirno, geez, you’re that dumb that you don’t even know me?” Classic deflection, blaming a new student’s unfamiliarity on being stupid as opposed to understandable factors, like not being able to memorize hundreds of children in a week. </p>
<p>“OK, Cirno, why are you picking on her?” Clara says, pointing her finger at Star, “that’s my friend you’re talking about.” What a sour experience to be going through, she thinks. Now she has to deal with some belligerent kid whose after her for, no reason.</p>
<p>“Pff, you don’t know?” Cirno replies, stifling a laugh, “her and her weird little friends are some of the biggest losers I’ve ever seen, no wonder you’re hangin’ out with ‘em!” To Clara, there’s no rhyme or reason as to why this vitriol is being spat her way, but perhaps she stumbled into some clique conflict that only surprises her due to not knowing the context behind it all. </p>
<p>“I mean, have you seen Luna fall on her face or see Sunny cry at some bugs, it’s hilarious!” Cirno exclaims, pointing her finger back at Star who looks troubled with how many hands have been thrown at her, “and don’t get me talkin’ about this one, she only hangs with the idiots because she doesn’t fit in with anyone else!” </p>
<p>This, frankly, is a very distressing experience for the two of them. Star hunches in her seat on the swing, but Clara takes the opposite route. Clara gets a few steps closer to Cirno, effectively squared up.</p>
<p>“Will you please shut up?” she shouts, putting her hands on her hips and staring down at Cirno with sheer anger. She’s only known her three pals for a week on the nose, but she won’t stand for this at all. She grew up miserably as an orphan for eight years, then has lived in a no-nonsense household for two more, there’s no reason she wouldn’t stick up for her friends. Enough is enough. “Now leave us alone, idjit,” Clara states, pointing in a random direction away from the group. </p>
<p>This continued resistance has finally led to Cirno snapping, the girl not responding with words but with a rash action. Cirno quickly hops up, swiping her arm up to grab Clara’s hat off her scalp. When in doubt, just steal something to get on someone’s nerves. Cirno then backs up, doing her damnedest to keep away with Clara’s cap.</p>
<p>“Hey!” Clara yells, reaching an arm out hastily before Cirno steps back, fueled by her past annoyance and a mix of present desperation and anger. Star watches with worry, knowing from firsthand experience that Clara’s cap is not something to be trifled with. She’s just happy they soon landed on good terms when she made her attempt.</p>
<p>Cirno sticks her tongue out, continuously moving away from Clara for no other reason than to be as obnoxious as possible, “I think I’m doin’ you a favor, this thing’s pretty ugly.” Cirno then “inspects” it, also known as handling the headwear with not a care in the world and pulling at the hem. </p>
<p>“It’s not!” Clara shouts again, now starting to cause a little scene with some of the nearby kids, “it’s mine, give it back!” It’s a last-ditch effort to see if the brat will listen to reason. Unlikely, as Cirno seems to get a kick out of it, enjoying feeling like the bigger girl. This isn’t an unfamiliar scene to anyone nearby, Cirno’s got a reputation of constantly trying to establish herself as the big cajone of their grade. No one knows why though, nor do they want to be the next one in the small girl’s path, because if there is one thing she is, it’s cold and unforgiving.</p>
<p>“Why should I?” Cirno asks, leaning forward with a deviously snide expression, one that’s starting to drive Clara up a wall. So much so that Clara’s decided she’s had enough with this excursion and is going to end it with simple force.</p>
<p>Instead of a simple method like clocking Cirno across the jaw or pulling her by the hair, Clara decides to use her size and surprising amount of strength to her advantage. She swiftly steps forward and grabs Cirno by both straps of her overalls, pulling the girl upward harshly.</p>
<p>“Give it back right now pipsqueak, or else,” she says, voice cracking on the ‘or else.’ She oh so wishes to just throw Cirno into the woodchips and not look back, but there’s the obvious stipulation that she’d wind up in the office again two school days in a row. Even now, she’s put herself at a huge risk if any of the watching teachers caught wind of this. The same crowd of kids has come to a halt, all entirely locked in on the scene in motion. Star, on the other hand, is looking with wide, entertained eyes. </p>
<p>Cirno, on the other hand, has had her smug attitude completely knocked out of her by this gesture. It’s as if this has never happened to in her life. There’s noticeable fear on her face, unsure of what is going to come next from this raucous new kid. It was the wrong sleeping bear to poke. To save her own skin, she simply holds her hand with the hat up, hoping this will appease this embodiment of rage. Harshly, Clara retrieves her hat back, using her other hand to shove Cirno to the ground. Without muttering a word or even eeking out a sound, Cirno scrambles to her feet and runs off, the world around them resuming to the usual glee of children on a playground.</p>
<p>Star hops up from her perch, rushing to Clara with an unfittingly excited demeanor. “That was awesome, typically we just get Luna to cry until she leaves!” Again, concerning. Star claps her hands together, keeping the bubbly mood up until she realizes Clara is not reciprocating her emotions. </p>
<p>Clara puts her cap on her head, looking dejectedly towards the ground below, ignoring her doting friend. Even though she did something that some would say is justified, it’s only been a week and she’s already involved herself in a scuffle. Seems like very fast progress is being made in her social development, even the negative bits. Star, being the ever-supportive friend, puts a light hand on her shoulder and shakes her lightly.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about Cirno, she’s always been kind of a jerk,” Star says, abiding by her personal code and pulling Clara in for a hug from behind, “I don’t know why, though, no one does.” It’s comforting to Clara, but now her simple mind’s just back on the fact that she’s been intruded upon.</p>
<p>“And you guys just, take that from her?” Clara asks, stepping forward to escape Star’s light grasp and turning around to face Star with a drill sergeant’s determined gusto. “I mean, I get that you three aren’t, probably good at throwing her but, come on!” she exclaims, throwing her hand in the air. </p>
<p>“Well, we never want to get into fights, even small ones like that and,” Star says, splitting eye contact for a second to look at her shoes, “she always comes back, no matter how hard we try!” Typical bully, resilient ‘til the very end. This baffles Clara, enough so to get the gears turning in her head. She knows for a fact that she can’t just keep tossing Cirno like a ragdoll because she risks a major fallout with the school and of course, mom. Also, it’ll be a huge shitstorm if she “radicalizes” her three friends to handle these situations with similar bitterness.</p>
<p>“I bet it’s cause her parents are total idiots,” Clara says, pounding her fist into her other hand, as if she’d stumbled on an answer so undeniably true, “my Mama always says kids turn into brats if their parents are lazy.” She’s a little behind conversationally, still prying for an explanation of Cirno’s, anything. “She probably does nothing at home so, she has nothin’ better to do than pick on you guys,” she continues, drawing a circle in the air around Star’s head. </p>
<p>“It’s a really mean hobby for her to have…” Star mumbles, the thought of having harsh words slung at her again seeming like the end of the world. If there was one remark that stung, it was being told she was a total loser unworthy of a regular person’s time. She can’t help her eccentricity.</p>
<p>“Yeah, and I suggest maybe we do a bit of, tattling,” Clara says, getting a devilish grin on her face, as if her plan is sheer evil. It’s actually just an expression she makes when she’s pensive and excited.</p>
<p>“We’ve tried that, it’s one of the things that doesn’t work on her,” Star replies, being swiftly stopped in her tracks by Clara’s ferocious brainstorm.</p>
<p>“But I haven’t,” Clara says, wagging a finger in the air, “my Mama knows a lotta people, and she’s the scariest woman in the world when she’s mad.” Now Clara’s taking the spot of talking up someone because she views them through a favorable lens. Also, how can she not be a mama’s girl? Totally helps that Hecatia is genuinely a huge socialite in Gensokyo and knows most of the region by name, so tracking down one kid’s parents couldn’t be too difficult. “I can just tell her what happened today, then we get to the bottom of this!” she exclaims, her big talk alluring Star once more. It’s like she’s planned a heist, but instead of jewelry it’s just getting an egotistical classmate to can it.</p>
<p>“Really, you can do that?” Star asks, putting a very firm grip on Clara’s shoulders with each of her hands, a wave of desperation washing over. Clara wonders how long this has been going on, because she wouldn’t have expected this to be this dire of a circumstance.</p>
<p>“I can try,” Clara says, having to push Star off of her once more, desensitized to it by now, “you guys are my pals, even though we don’t know each other that well yet.” </p>
<p>“I’ll tell Luna when we get inside, maybe we all can help!” Star exclaims, clapping her hands. If there’s anything that these four ten-year olds are good at doing, it’s scheming with their limited brain power in a group, if a single prank where they all got busted counts as a proper scheme. There’s an odd amount of synergy with them all, so when the plan is forwarded to the rest of them, they can be called to action. </p>
<p>“Perfect!” Clara exclaims, wrapping up their plot in her head, raring to put it into action once class is called off for the day. She turns to the swings that they left open, becoming immensely disappointed when she finds that they’ve been taken from the duo. Well, shoot.</p>
<p>“So… what do we do now?” Star asks, looking around to see if there’s anything they can kill the next few minutes for before they all have to return inside. </p>
<p>“Uh…” Clara mumbles, doing the same as Star to find a mode of entertainment, noticing that she’s fully embraced this leader role now, “wanna just, sit by the door until we go inside, I still never finished talking about the kitchen – oh!”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Star asks, putting her hands back together.</p>
<p>“There was this super cool knife trick our waitress did and I wanna learn how to do it!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Working a third shift job makes these fun to crank out right as the ass crack of dawn sets in. Kinda gives me a "schedule" of releasing chapters on Fridays/Saturdays. Still not a guarantee but I'm happy I've been able to do this over a few weeks now, more committed than I thought going in.</p>
<p>I hope this has been an enjoyable read thus far!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Scattered Servings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Today was like every day the week prior, Hecatia would pick Clara up from school and the two would embark home, exchanging mundane conversation in the car. While the past few days for the bunch have been incredibly unusual, if there’s one thing that has them breathing easy, it’s this return to what was supposed to be a dull routine. Hecatia turns at an intersection, just over half-way home. </p><p>“Of course you’re gonna have extra work, you had to take the day off for your shenanigans,” Hecatia says, giving Clara a side-eye that basically reads that her daughter had this coming.  </p><p>“Uuugh, I know, it’s just all social studies, and I dunno what Ms. Margatroid wants us to do for some of these,” Clara replies, dipping her head back in her seat and looking to the vehicle’s ceiling with sheer exasperation. In her hands are a few pieces of paper for the mentioned unit, loaded to the brim with nothing but short-answer questions. Clara has reached the time in her education where she’s not being quizzed on yes/no or one-word answers, but rather interpretation. Questions such as what has conspired in history and how that reflects on the modern era. That specific period of learning is hard for a girl her age, so it’s not shocking that it’s a tad overwhelming.</p><p>“You know what I’m gonna say, just get through it anyway you can,” Hecatia states, autopiloting in conversation so she can focus on the vacant road ahead. Nice conditions, now she just wishes every afternoon was like this so she wouldn’t be tempted to commit vehicular homicide with her daughter in the car. “Anyhow, anything else happen today?” she asks, now becoming way more attentive. She needs to pry here to find out if the last few days have had any adverse effects on Clara.</p><p>“Well…” Clara mumbles, feigning being incredibly uncomfortable, for one reason. The plan she had set in motion with Star earlier in the day, to cage the bully in her home life, begins right here. She plans to tell the truth entirely but also hopes to convey it to be more harmful than it actually was. If there is one thing that does ring true entirely, it’s that she was ready to blow a gasket. However, after some time of cooling off, she’d realized her emotions were entirely heat-of-the-moment. Reminds her of the conversation her and her mother had when she got in trouble for collaborating in that prank, about how she would be likely to act stupidly had her hat been treated the way Cirno did. Right now, she’s just in this scheme to get Cirno back and lift a load off of her friends’ shoulders.</p><p>“Well?” Hecatia asks, feeling her heart begin a dive down into her stomach.</p><p> “Some girl came up to me and my friend Star today and, she, um,” Clara says, finding it oddly difficult to convey this story regularly, let alone with some fake emotional spice thrown on top, “she tried taking my cap and said some really mean things to Star.” It’s a statement that’s vague enough to increase Hecatia’s concerns, as if she thinks her daughter is intentionally obscuring some facts.</p><p>“And… what else?” Hecatia asks, looking directly at Clara, knowing the road can receive less of her attention for now. “That little shit didn’t hurt you at all, did she? I know you’re not telling me everything, like this brat’s name.” She’s absolutely ready to throw hands with a ten-year-old if need be.</p><p>“Her name’s Cirno and she was, just, mean,” Clara continues, hunching forward a bit, having obviously abandoned trying the crocodile tears as she’s been taken over by sincere discomfort, “so I, told her to knock it off.” The way she finishes her sentence does not give Hecatia clearance, like there’s still some unknown element to this whole thing.</p><p>“I’m not gonna get a phone call from this Cirno kid’s parents, am I?” Hecatia asks, having to switch from being defensive of her daughter to interrogative, “be honest with me Piece, please.”</p><p>“…I may have, pushed her, but that’s it!” Clara exclaims, desperate to not get in trouble with her mother today, “I didn’t even do it that hard, she just wouldn’t go away if I didn’t!” Silence takes over the vehicle after Clara’s recollection of the story filled it. </p><p>This is a weird set of information to work with for Hecatia. Week in and her daughter’s gotten into trouble and has received a bully, who she’d fought back against. In an odd sense, she’s happy to learn that Clara’s willing to stick up for her friends, but that’s never the side of the story that gets accepted by school systems to her knowledge. Hailing back to her high school days, Hecatia recalls that any time she got in tussles with people, no matter how justified, her side was never taken. It, for lack of a better word, fucking sucks. It’s enough to stress her out in the moment.</p><p>“Piece, just,” Hecatia mumbles, frustrated with circumstance more than her own daughter, “I’m proud that you stood up for yourself, but you gotta be careful, alright? As much as I wanna smack the hell outta this Cirno kid, I just advise you, don’t.” This is probably the most awkward lesson she’s had to impart on Clara. In a hurried attempt to change the topic in some manner, she asks for one last detail, “did you get her last name, by any chance? If I know her parents, I can definitely talk it through.” </p><p>A-ha! That’s what she was waiting for! Or, what she was thinking she was looking forward too until she started feeling incredibly guilty about the whole ordeal. Clara’s mischievous but there’s enough goodwill in her to prevent her from being malicious or manipulative. “No, I dunno what it is, I can find out tomorrow,” she says, putting her homework on her lap and patting it lightly, just needing to do something with her hands. </p><p>“Do that and I’ll see what I can find out, I’m sure it’ll all be super peachy,” Hecatia says, a small hint of sarcasm in her voice. She’s learned one of the few principles of being a mother: hating children that aren’t her own. It won’t be said any time soon, but she’s not even fond of Clara’s friends either. They seem like a bunch of devious goblins from what she’s heard, but at least they’re giving Clara a place in their circle. </p><p>Sooner than they both thought, the car pulls into the driveway of their complex, time breezing by. No words are said for a moment until Hecatia steps out of the car, moving towards the trunk of the vehicle. “Hey, Piece, gimme a hand with some of this, I had to get some groceries,” she says, popping open the trunk to reveal a few plastic bags and a large paper one. Once they divide up their respective amounts, they head inside. </p>
<hr/><p>Junko has been wasting her time away today by mindlessly staring at the TV, watching news programs for the most part. While she wasn’t completely deprived of television in prison, she would rarely tune in except if there was some breaking story. Past two years have not been much for news with the exception of mind-numbing local politics. Feels like the last story worth cracking over the line was, well, her own. She’d turned to the TV mostly to cool her mind after her small episode earlier in the day, wanting to depart from those emotions. She settled for heating up a leftover chicken breast and went from there, not having the insatiable appetite of the day prior. Seeing how there’s not much stimulating her brain right now, the sound of rustling bags and footsteps stumbling down the hallway is more than enough to turn her attention to the front door.  Was it already almost 4pm? The click of a key resonates in the quiet apartment, mother and daughter bursting through, answering her question.</p><p>“Hey, look whose awake!” Hecatia exclaims, shuffling towards the kitchen with bags in tow, Clara following her, “thought you’d died in there.” She laughs at her own remarks, Junko herself not having any real reaction outside of standing up to join them. Hecatia walks up to Junko after setting down her cargo, putting her hands on her hips.</p><p>“You look like you found everything OK, smells like you cooked somethin’ and you’re obviously, dressed,” Hecatia says, gesturing a hand from Junko’s head to her feet, “sucks you chose the most boring set of clothes I got ya, but hey I’m not complainin’.” Clara begins to shuffle around and put away groceries. </p><p>“It was a bit easier to sort through everything than I would have guessed,” Junko replies, running a hand through her hair, “this place is a lot better looking than when it was just you here.” This prompts a sigh from Hecatia, which is enough to give Junko some cheap humor. </p><p>“Anyhow, as you can tell, I was out all day getting a lot of garbage out of the way,” Hecatia says, moving to grab a bag from the kitchen table with a phone company’s name on it. “Kawashiro Mobile,” it reads. “On top of getting food we can actually cook with, I got you on the phone plan for a year,” she says, taking a box containing a slim smartphone within, “gotcha registered with my number in the contacts, if you need anyone else just lemme know.” </p><p>Junko slowly takes the box from Hecatia’s hands, popping it open immediately to find the phone and its necessary peripherals. Without hesitation, she turns it on, being greeted with some garish OS opening screens. She’s not technologically stupid, more so surprised how quick and sleek phones have become in just a short span of time. Also, something about a plan? Does this mean that Hecatia was able to get this without forking over a crazy amount of money? So many questions.</p><p>“Also,” Hecatia says, using the back of her hand to whap Junko’s shoulder, surprising the hell out of her, “I have to ditch like, soon. I gotta take the lead bartender shift tonight and help get an event sorted, so I’ll be out for a while.” It takes mentioning of this fact for Junko to be made aware that Hecatia is indeed in “uniform”, sporting one of her signature “Welcome to Hell ♥” shirts with a multicolored, checkered skirt. She takes Junko’s wrist, directing her to the hallway just a tad out of the kitchen, banking on Clara being too occupied with the groceries at hand. Junko stays silent, expecting that Hecatia has a lot to say here.</p><p>“It’ll just be you and Piece tonight, is that alright?” Hecatia mumbles, being very concerned for how the night is going to play out. Junko stands with her trap still shut, mulling over how she’s supposed to answer this question. She wonders if now’s a good time to bring up her little, ordeal, from the morning. The silence of just seconds feels like Father Time himself is gnawing at Hecatia’s skin. </p><p>“I think everything will be fine,” Junko retorts, looking back towards the kitchen to spot Clara hauling her body on a countertop to reach an upper pantry, before turning back. “I’m sure there is plenty we can do to pass the time and I can…” she trails, having played herself into a reminder of earlier, “make us something to eat.” Junko puts a weak smile on her face, this having the opposite effect on Hecatia. Hecatia bears a frown, the sheer uncertainty emanating from Junko not doing any favors. </p><p>“…Okay, uh,” Hecatia says, realizing that she’s going to have to deal for now, not wanting to argue with Junko about her own mental stability with Clara in earshot, “listen, if something goes wrong, let me know, alright? I can always take a moment or two.” Hecatia delivers this desperately, this catching Junko off-guard and causing her to amorphously absorb this urgency. </p><p>It’s in this instant that Junko is hit with the mental bricks reminding her of how fortunate she is in the moment, to have a friend who’s this outright concerned for her at every waking moment. Hecatia’s been taking time and money out to ensure her own safety and prosperity going forward while also juggling so much. No doubt she’s stressed beyond belief behind this cheery, cool attitude. Junko suddenly pulls Hecatia in for a hug, patting her back. “I promise, I’m so sorry you have to worry about so much, Hecatia,” Junko whispers, tightening her embrace for second before letting go. </p><p>This, regardless, surprised Hecatia, as she’s stuck with a bit of redness in the face. More importantly, it’s a concrete statement, which is more relieving to her than anything right now.  “Well, alright,” she says, shaking her head, “anyhow, toodaloo and all that, I don’t wanna run late.” She halfheartedly pats Junko’s shoulder before squeezing past her, shouting to Clara as she departs.</p><p>“Ey, Piece, I’ll be back late tonight, be nice to Junko while I’m gone!” she exclaims, leaving the apartment for a second before peeping her head back in. “And don’t forget your homework young lady!” With that said, she finally leaves. Clara doesn’t respond, instead opting to put away the last item she was entrusted with: a sack of potatoes. </p><p>With Hecatia out of the picture, Junko decides now is the perfect time for some oh-so-important and probably intrusive time to spend with Clara. She lumbers out of the hallway to meet with the girl, who looked like she was on her way to her room. This has forced an impasse for the two, both sides obviously wanting to achieve a different goal. They’re dead silent, locked in this metaphysical cowboy showdown, each daring the other to shoot first. Shockingly, in the face of so much adversity, it is Clara who speaks up to the imposing giant in her heroic path.</p><p>“I’m, gonna go to my room,” Clara says, shaking in her metaphorical boots, “I wanna take a nap.” </p><p>“My apologies, go right ahead,” Junko replies, moving her body 90 degrees to open the way, Clara practically bolting past her. </p><p>Huh.</p><p>More TV is just going to have to do for now. </p>
<hr/><p>In a few hours in a cramped “board room” with a few coworkers, such as the cooks and technicians, nothing felt like it got done. There is to be an event at the Hell on Earth Society in the coming months, something to do with a band of faraway musicians, a collaboration between the Prismriver Sisters and a freelance drummer named Raiko Horikawa. However, where everything had gone south with this meeting was determining the parameters for their performance, as they, specifically the drummer, are requesting a massive amount of space to do their show. The issue is primarily that, while the club itself is hugely popular, the building isn’t huge itself. Appeals to get an expansion on it have been made with adequate money raised from sponsors and the club’s own performance, but it keeps getting blocked by city hall politicians and real estate owners nearby. </p><p>So, while the prospect of having a popular band perform there to bring the music instead of a regular DJ station sounds great, there’s been no progress made on it thus far. This has Hecatia frustrated at the bar counter, no one to really rant about this too and a mood soured. She idles by, noting the income of patrons and workers alike. The clock has struck 6pm, the period of beginning heavy activity any day of the week. Just after rush hour. While a few people take seats at the bar counter, they’re mostly conversing within themselves, with no one ordering drinks just yet. That is until an older woman who Hecatia has never seen before strolls right in front of her, taking a seat. The woman has green hair and is adorned in a matching set of a red vest and skirt, both of which having a grid pattern amongst them. A little, demure for this environment, but Hecatia is the literal last person who should be judging fashion.</p><p>“Can I get you anything?” Hecatia asks, spreading her arms and putting her hands on the bar counter, each far apart from the other. </p><p>“I’ll take a cosmopolitan,” she replies, leaning back on her stool and rotating her head, as if to crack her neck, “two shots.”</p><p>Already, Hecatia’s gotten a weird vibe from this customer. Dresses like she’s about to judge a pie baking contest, orders a drink that she personally hates serving to anyone over the age of 21, and just her overall demeanor. While this customer hasn’t blatantly done anything, being in this social sphere for as long as Hecatia has leads to having suspicions just based on how people present themselves.</p><p>“Comin’ right up,” Hecatia says, turning around to procure the necessary ingredients. Cranberry juice, vodka, blah blah she can make these in her sleep and certainly does so in her nightmares. As she’s begun to mix, the stranger speaks up. No need to check for an ID here, as this lady is very obviously in her forties or even above that.</p><p>“So, I heard you’ve taken on quite a bit lately,” the woman says, leaning forward and shooting Hecatia a snide gaze, “got the beast out of its cage.”</p><p>Now, the main thought running through Hecatia’s mind is: who the fuck is this and what does she mean? She continues blending this woman’s drink in a cocktail shaker and turns to her with a befuddled, quizzical expression. </p><p>“What do you mean,” Hecatia replies, vexation leaking through her lips. </p><p>“A good old friend of mine had noticed you from your unmistakable last name at the penitentiary on Sunday,” the woman replies, tapping her fingers along the bar counter, “I can’t say we know any Lapislazulis anywhere else.”</p><p>“Yeah yeah, you know me but,” Hecatia says, wanting to pour this patron’s drink on her head, “who are you and why do you care?” If there’s ever a policy to be done away with, Hecatia prays that it’s being forced to abide to the customer’s will.</p><p>“Me? I’m Yuuka Kazami, I used to be the warden of that place,” she replies, sitting back upright and looking to Hecatia, politely this time. “If you ever noted the wonderful garden that’s still there, ‘twas my doing,” she says, putting a hand over her chest, “it used to be called Mugenkan, a place where dreams go to die.” Frankly, that statement and Yuuka’s smug attitude are a combination of traits that are about to drive an already frustrated Hecatia up the wall.</p><p>“The gatekeeper there, Elly, told me about you,” Yuuka continues, shaking her head from side to side, “from the sounds of it, that poor woman’s still bad at her job.” </p><p>“You still haven’t answered my other question, Madame,” Hecatia retorts, slurring her speech on Madame, reflecting her disgust with this new customer, who has very obviously picked up on this. Against all odds, Hecatia pours a double shot of Yuuka’s cosmo, sliding it to her.</p><p>“Oh, I hardly care, I just wanted to see what a criminal’s asylum lead to,” Yuuka says, taking a sip, swirling the glass in her hand for a second, “houses a felon and mixes a good drink, how peculiar.” </p><p>The actual nerve of this woman. While Hecatia’s scuffling days are far behind her, she wants to take this outside. Yet again, at the end of the day, Yuuka’s just another rotten patron who will leave eventually. So, Hecatia takes the high route, taking a deep breath and trying to pop as few blood vessels as she can manage. She’s soon given a means out of this by a separate customer, of whom has brought a few friends of his. </p>
<hr/><p>The past few for Junko have been, needless to say, as mindless as the ones before. More watching television, but with the added side hustle of configuring her phone. She’d sent Hecatia a text that read “Testing.” Earlier, and a little checkmark denoted that it had gone through. The idea of logging back into her old social media accounts bounced around in her head for a moment, but she decided it was best to hold off on that for now. She doesn’t want to get hounded by random people or those who’d turned their backs to her when everything had conspired.</p><p>It’d been quiet in the house, only a droning speaker playing the news, so when Junko’s ears are alerted to the sounds of a frustrated fourth grader piercing through the walls, she’s set on edge. While she doesn’t want to interfere in Clara’s affairs, it’d tear her heartstrings to not at least try something. She arises from her seat on the couch, abandoning the butt imprint she’d left after sitting on it for so damn long, and heads to Clara’s room. She puts her ear to the bedroom door, not hearing much anymore, but still goes forward with her plan. Junko knocks quietly, doing so as to not startle the girl.</p><p>“…Yeah?” Clara asks, Junko catching the sheer defeat in her voice.</p><p>“Is everything okay in there? I heard you from the living room,” Junko answers, blunt in her approach.</p><p>“…”</p><p>A little trait of Clara is that the girl clams up under stress, her brain having to buffer to collect her thoughts.</p><p>“May I come in?” Junko asks, lightening up her voice to put sympathy on display. Even though she’s aware that she’s far from being a comforting presence to Clara, she wants to take every step forward that she can in that regard.</p><p>“…Yeah.”</p><p>With clearance given, Junko slowly opens the door, opting to stand in the doorway for now. The very first thing her eyes catch before looking to the girl is her room, which is decorated to hell and back. Tons of astronomical themed paraphernalia cover the walls and not just generic space program posters or astronauts on the moon. Legitimately complex spacecraft and plots like terraforming charts are on these walls, which simply astounds Junko. Well, easy to tell Clara’s passion here, the girl probably knows more about the outer world than most people who’ve stepped foot in this home. </p><p>Now, back to the main problem at hand, Clara herself. The girl is sulking in her desk, face down in her arms atop a couple pieces of paper. Clara’s not in pajamas, which means she hasn’t found it in her to relax yet. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to decipher that she’s distressed, which begs Junko’s next question. </p><p>“What’s the matter?” Junko asks, leaning on the door frame, trying her damnedest to peer at what’s got Clara so upset. Clara sits upright and pushes her chair back, taking the cuts of paper in her hand, lazily putting them on display upside-down for Junko. </p><p>“I’m supposed to do this work about a buncha old wars, and I’ve read the book a million times, but it’s fucking impossible to figure out,” Clara says, her voice shaky from sheer rage and frustration. The fact that this kid also dropped a hard F-bomb also was enough to rattle Junko’s soul. It’d be funnier out of this context, because yeah there’s Hecatia’s influence right there. Lack of a filter when mad, looks like it’ll be a Lapislazuli trend down the line, genetics be damned.</p><p>Mustering up every iota of strength to not just shout “Language!” at her, Junko offers, “may I see it?” Without words, Clara extends her arms, Junko taking a step into her room to grab it. Truth be told, these are all incredibly simple, but she’s 33 and a bit wiser to the world than she ever wished to be. As she looks everything over, Clara speaks up.</p><p>“Mama’s always so busy, she used to help me with this when she had time but now she’s always gotta leave right when we get home,” Clara says, crossing her arms and pouting, “and she keeps saying to just get this done but, I don’t even know how to start, I miss being homeschooled.” Since children have no idea what subtlety, it’s often they’ll just say things how they are. Junko makes note of this rant, the sentences laid out in her mind. It, makes total sense. Clara and Hecatia, despite having known each other for only two years, adapted to the mother-daughter dynamic at a breakneck pace.  Every prison visit Hecatia made, Junko got to hear about some of their exploits. Junko recalls the recounted stories about Clara first calling Hecatia “Mama,” the first heartfelt “I love you,” etc. So, when such a fastened bond must be split like this, there’s bound to be disgruntlement on both ends. She feels that Hecatia would rather be spending whole days with Clara as opposed to this public school gig as well.</p><p>Junko is caught in a gnarl of what to do right now. Obvious answer is to help out with Clara’s homework, but she feels that it won’t be enough. Then, without much deliberation needed, the answer clicks in her head. If she’s going to have to intrude upon their family unit until she herself can recover into a woman fit for society again, she’s going to make it worth their while. Instead of just being someone Clara can be friendly with, she’ll set out to just be the girl’s friend outright. Someone Clara can confide in on these stressful days. It’s just going to have to start with social studies homework.</p><p>“Clara, here,” Junko says, handing the girl’s assignment back to her, “pull out your history book, I can help you study, if you want me to.” </p><p>“Really?” Clara asks, eyes splitting wide open, slightly in disbelief. Mostly because this woman that her mother just dragged out of prison yesterday is now totally willing to help her with war history. Been a long couple days, truth be told.</p><p>“But, on one condition,” Junko continues, putting a finger in the air like some cranky old bird of an instructor, “I won’t give you the answers outright, you have to do that on your own.” Some of Clara’s excitement goes away, but at least she looks more levelled than earlier. “Afterwards, I’ll make us dinner, how does that sound?” </p>
<hr/><p>One shitty, empathy-less botanist and an unassuming party later, Hecatia has noted that an hour and half had passed in that span. Now is the part of the night where she personally enjoys doing this, which is boosted by the entrance of one of her favorite customers.</p><p>In enters Rin Kaenbyou, or Orin if you know the lady well enough. She’s a younger woman has a shade of red similar to Hecatia’s own natural color tied into neat braids, and always wears some combination of black clothing. Today it’s a black hoodie and long black skirt, dressed to tussle with the oncoming autumn chills. They wave to one another, Hecatia being more emphatic in her gesture because she’s just needed something to go right tonight.</p><p>“Hey, Orin, take a seat, made sure no one took it from ya!” Hecatia exclaims, tempted to leap past this counter and choke her with a bear hug. Oh the constraints of the bartending position.</p><p>“Good evening, Hecatia, how ya been?” Rin asks, taking her “designated” stool and plopping right atop it. Seems these two have known each other long enough that Hecatia doesn’t even need to hear anything to start preparing Rin’s favorite drink. </p><p>“I’d run your ear off if I answered that, so you tell me what’s up with you first,” Hecatia says, turning on the tap to get the first steps for a rum and cola. </p><p>“Not much, they let me off early at the morgue today, so I just strolled around town for a bit ‘til it was nigh time I showed up here,” Rin replies, putting her elbow on the counter and leaning her head on it. Rin’s a weird one, but in all the ways that Hecatia enjoys. She’s very casual about her job as a mortician and acts like she doesn’t have to see corpses day in and day out. </p><p>“Not enough people dyin’, maybe you gotta hire some people to get that number up for you,” Hecatia jests, giving a corny thumbs up before working a bottle of spiced rum into Rin’s beverage. Rin laughs at this remark, turning her head over to gaze at the crowd. It’s a regular sized one tonight, nothing too special.</p><p>“Don’t think that I haven’t thought of that,” Rin says, mimicking the “wink wink, nudge nudge” gesture, “oh, ‘nother thing, I got an update from Okuu.”</p><p>“Really now, what’s Ms. Nuclear Physicist up to these days?” Hecatia asks, planting Rin’s drink on a coaster and handing it over to her. There’s annoyance in her voice as she continues, “she gets accepted into a grad school in the same damn city, and suddenly acts like she’s the president.” </p><p>“She’s apparently being invited to scour the mountain ranges nearby, like there’s some big thermal-nuclear whatever going on,” Orin explains, obviously having no real knowledge on the subject, “seems like a pretty good break.”</p><p>Okuu, or more formally known as Utsuho Reiuji, was as frequent of a diner as Rin is, but had ditched these joint get-outs at the Hell on Earth Society once she’d gotten accepted into grad school. Rin is slightly hurt, but Hecatia melodramatically treats it as an act of treason. Hecatia doesn’t believe it’s due to a workload change or anything, because Utsuho would often get blitzed at this club and still ace her courses from the sounds of it.</p><p>“Geez, having any connection to the Komeijis gets you the money to go places,” Hecatia states, collecting the double shot glass that Yuuka rudely left behind, with no tip nonetheless. She starts wiping it down with a rag, just getting it ready for a dishwasher to take later. </p><p>“Yeah, I’d know,” Rin says with a cocky grin, before batting her hand at the air, “for me, I just don’t have to worry about my ol’ student loans from my associate’s. No way I’m doing more than what I love right now, which is looking at dead old guys who’ve screwed our futures.” This gets a hearty chuckle from Hecatia, who then cuts to another question.</p><p>“So, hear anything from those two?” she asks, referring to the aforementioned Komeijis.</p><p>“Koishi’s still… herself, but Satori’s bored out of her mind with no work to do lately,” Rin states, scratching the back of her noggin. Rin and Utsuho had served as maids for the Komeiji estate, a historically rich family who own a borderline palace. Satori, the older sister and in turn the heiress to the estate, had begun her job as a near infallible detective who sees work even outside of Gensokyo due to her record. Koishi, on the other hand, had gotten involved in a tragic accident which left her permanently neurologically damaged, requiring supervision.<br/>
That’s where Rin and Utsuho came in, two girls whose families had ties to the Komeijis despite a huge class disparity, and each of which were hired as Koishi’s caretakers. It was a good paying job, put both of them through school, and attaches the Komeiji name on a resume. Whether that’s a good thing or not depends on who you ask. While they no longer work under the family, both girls keep in touch.</p><p>“Y’know, to this day I still have yet to meet either of those two,” Hecatia says flatly before smiling at Rin, “if you can convince her at all, try to get Satori down here for a drink, having an esteemed detective here would be good business.” Rin shakes her head again with an exasperated smile, like this is funny but annoying at the same time.</p><p>“I’ll see what I can do,” Rin states, finally taking a sip from her beverage.</p><p>It’d taken a while, but Junko had effectively guided Clara through her text, giving her modes of analyzing that the girl had never done nor considered before. Sounds a bit fancier than it was, as it was mostly about searching for keywords and note-taking advice. It took them until 7:30pm to do so, a lot of time lost due to both taking breaks very frequently, but what’s done is done. Now, Junko seeks to fulfill her promise of dinner.</p><p>While all of Clara’s breaks were just to cool her brain machine, Junko’s were food related. She knew making something worthwhile for them to enjoy would take a moment to cook, so she went along preheating the oven and keeping track of the temperature. The route she took was simple, making baked sweet potatoes and chicken breast. Since they both could stand being heated at the same temperature, it was nice to just throw some basic spice on, toss them in on separate pans, and let them heat.</p><p>What baffled Junko about her ingredients was their source: the Aki Co-op. Instead of going to the nearby supermarket, Hecatia had shopped locally for quite the pricey pieces. The Aki Co-op features a pair of sisters who have inherited their family farm and use their own harvest for their groceries. The younger sister, Minoriko, has grown a good reputation in town, so business has been booming. Especially since, apparently, this place serves the nicest sweet potatoes around. So, Junko went with it as to not waste something of this caliber.</p><p>So, when Clara’d wrapped up her busy work, she’d be greeted in the dining area with a nice hearty meal to top off the night. Junko had been in the kitchen pre-emptively, setting two plates of meat and potato on the table with proper utensils. With Clara in her sights, Junko makes the grand announcement.</p><p>Or, she would, if she didn’t have trouble eeking out the words, “Dinner is ready.” Some part of her had felt this was coming when she said she was going to make food, based on her experience in the morning. Like she can’t so as much as make food without being flooded with some memory from a time long since passed. A memory of an era in her life before it was tarnished and spat on. Her eyes stare past the matter of the walls around her, body freezing up before she’s taken a seat at the table. </p><p>Clara’s already sat down and pulled her chair in, taking notice of Junko before digging into her tantalizingly scented meal. She tries to look behind her to find out whatever Junko could be observing, but to no avail, which now prompts her to ask, “uh, Miss Junko, what’re you looking at?” </p><p>Like an animal acting entirely on instinct, Junko’s eyes laser focus on Clara, piercing into the girl’s heart. It’s an unsettling look on an unsettling woman, and despite the reverie from the time spent, it’s a stark reminder to Clara that there’s a reason she’s so unnerved by her mother’s friend. Clara shrinks in her seat, unsure of if she should run away to her room and call mom or, something else.</p><p>In this light daze, Junko’s eyes portray this information to her mind, the data that Clara’s beginning to become mortified by her silence and freaky appearance. Her thoughts go at war with one another, the mental noise cloud being pierced with a single unifying notion fighting amidst the muck. “Cut it out,” is the rallying cry of her conscious, it being strong enough to weather the tempest and get Junko back on her current situation.</p><p>“I’m, sorry dear,” Junko says without thinking over, trying to gather her bearings more, “I was, distracted by something on the TV.” It’s the best excuse she can come up with and a fortunate one at that, considering the living room and dining room are both technically the same overarching space. Junko takes her own seat, noting the creaking of the wooden chair when she does so. Clara doesn’t respond, but she does loosen up just a bit. Better that Junko show signs of life as opposed to whatever that was.</p><p>Clara, however, is not one to eat dinner in silence, even if it is with someone she isn’t super familiar with. Despite not being shy from conversation, she’s having a struggle to say something worthwhile, prodding away at herself as she eats. Speaking of which, the food is good, just nothing super spectacular since Junko didn’t take any leaps and bounds to cerate an unforgettable dish. Yet, just a few bites into the chicken have alerted her to something notable.</p><p>“Don’t tell Mama I said this,” Clara says, putting her elbow on the table so she can relax while she dines, “but I like this better than what she cooks.” Once again, blunt and to the point. A bit of Star’s ability to call things as they are is rubbing off on her, it seems.</p><p>“Really now?” Junko responds, looking directly at Clara’s arm with the intent of discussing table manners. Not her kid, not her rules, she reminds herself. “I appreciate the compliment but, I’m, sure Hecatia isn’t that bad of a chef.” Having known Hecatia for so long, Junko’s aware that the woman’s not super practically built. If anything, it’s incredibly likely Hecatia began learning how to cook properly the day she adopted Clara, as past evidence suggests Hecatia lived and died by leftovers and packaged dinners.</p><p>“Her chicken’s always super dry,” Clara states, poking her chicken breast with a fork, “I don’t gotta drink something to swallow this.” </p><p>Well, at least Hecatia’s trying, Junko thinks. </p>
<hr/><p>“Hey, Komachi, closing time, get off your ass and bus the rest of these tables,” Hecatia says, exasperation in her voice. Despite being a popular club, it’s not the type to be active into the third shift, and strictly closes at 11pm on weekdays. Time is around 10:30pm now, and Hecatia wants to get herself home early. Thank the lord it’s not up to her to close the building.</p><p>“Yeah yeah, I gotcha,” Komachi responds, “takin’ it outta my break time y’know, Lapislazuli.”</p><p>“Your break time isn’t your whole shift, now make with it,” Hecatia dictates, snapping her fingers to get Komachi on the move.</p><p>She has no clue where the hell Komachi wound up from, but if there’s one thing about her, it’s that she’s lazy and unmotivated. What sucks the hardest, Hecatia believes, is that Komachi will consistently slack off, but do just barely enough to not be on the grounds for firing. While she understands having to do the bare minimum, it’s annoying when she has to lead people like this.</p><p>Komachi rises from her spot in the backroom and meanders out into the club area, only a singular customer remaining at the bar counter at this point, looking to be on their way out. With that out of the way, Hecatia swipes Komachi’s spot, pulling out her phone to inspect what she’d been missing. Tonight was busier than she had anticipated.  A few notifications from her social media accounts, but not a single text message. It’s a bit disconcerting, but she deems it’s nothing to get tied up about. But, for her own sanity’s sake, she shoots Junko a text asking if the night went smoothly. Instantaneously, enough so to get her to double check she was seeing it right. The message reads:</p><p>“Everything went great. We went through her homework and had dinner together. She went to her room shortly after and probably went to sleep. I’ll see you when you get home.”</p><p>It’s like Junko had rehearsed that or something. It’s enough to put Hecatia at ease and gives her clarity that she can rupture her eardrums on the drive home instead of driving in anxious silence. Without hesitation, she rises back from her seat, feeling the sense of urgency to get out of here right now and just return home to her friend and her bed. Despite being the highest authority in the building left, she’s not always the last one out. It’s up to the custodians and security to close. </p><p>On her way out, she turns around when she’s at the door, looking to Komachi who is doing her damnedest to finish as slowly as she can. “Komachi, if I see any unfinished tables when I get back here tomorrow, it comes out of your paycheck,” Hecatia shouts, only getting a limp “uh huh” in response. </p><p>Yeah, she’s going home now. Clocking out is going to feel so nice. </p>
<hr/><p>The time read on the top of Junko’s phone screen is 11:10pm, the time having felt lightning fast once Clara had called it a night. The television has finally been shut off, the same, monotonous stories just not doing their part in keeping her entertained. Instead, she’d finally decided to start anew on social media, making semi-anonymous accounts just for the sake of following musicians and other artists she enjoys. The temptation to follow Hecatia’s accounts was strong, but she’ll withhold for now. She’s sure it’s littered with mom-posting and nonsense from work. A little bubble appears on the top of her screen, signifying that she got a new message. After looking it over, it’s just Hecatia, reading “home.” She didn’t get anything notifying her about being on the way, just a message which clarifies that the footsteps down the hall are hers. Hecatia’s always had this problem with communication, Junko recalls, but it appears she’s trying to better it? Time will have to tell. Before Hecatia turns the lock and key, Junko is on her feet, leaning against the same ol’ couch she’d spent her day on. </p><p>Hecatia slowly and quietly walks inside, almost jumping sky high when she catches Junko just chilling so close to the doorway. The apartment isn’t well lit right now, so Junko has managed to place an imposing presence on her friend this time.</p><p>“Gah, scared the shit outta me, Junko” Hecatia says, rubbing the back of her head. </p><p>“Sorry about that,” Junko replies, sidling along furniture to allow room for Hecatia to pass through, “how was work?” Simple conversation that won’t require too many of Hecatia’s braincells. Both of them are hushed, not wanting to run the risk of waking Clara up.</p><p>“Uuugh, I swear I was gonna go at it with someone tonight,” Hecatia states, grinding her teeth for a second, “first this old fucking hag comes in just to track me down and mock me, Komachi took her sweetass time as usual, and…” She trails off, her nose catching wind of leftover food scent nearby. Damn, maybe she should have asked Junko to make extras, smells good in here. “Anyhow, different day different bullshit, I saw your text, you sure everything went over fine? Piece didn’t give you a hard time did she?” Hecatia pries, crossing her arms.</p><p>“No, not at all,” Junko says, a very jovial smile now on her face, “if anything, maybe I imposed a little, but we had a very relaxing time tonight.” Junko looks over to Clara’s room, saying, “I forgot to tell her good night, only regret I have.” </p><p>“Fantastic, you don’t know how much that lifts off my shoulders,” Hecatia retorts, walking past Junko en route to her own bedroom, “anyhow, we got something to do tomorrow.”</p><p>“Oh, what?” Junko inquires.</p><p>“I was thinking about getting my hair dyed again, and for you to get…” she mumbles, trying her best to gesture at Junko’s huge mane of hair, “that sorted out.”</p><p>“That sounds good to me, I had to go to war with it this morning,” Junko says, using her whole forearm to uphold a mass of hair, “what color were you thinking?”</p><p>“Eh, I don’t know yet, I’ll figure it out when we get there,” Hecatia says, being the most classic-Hecatia thing she could have said, in Junko’s eyes. Cross that bridge when you get to it. “Anyhow, I oughta pass out, I’ll see ya in the morning if you’re not in a coma.” With that swift remark made, Hecatia bumbles into her bedroom, lightly shutting the door behind her, leaving Junko awake by herself.</p><p>Seeing no reason to push much further, Junko decides that it’s best she try to sleep. While she’s not feeling drowsy, she just has no reason to be awake. She prays she can catch Hecatia and Clara in the morning on their way out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Belated Halloween!</p><p>Lore-dump-like chapter aka "author just added a lotta character tags but at least has an excuse" time. I'm kinda tempted to give a different alcoholic beverage assignment to every possible character.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Cleaving History</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, look who’s awake!”</p><p>Having woke up just a few minutes prior, instead of engrossing the morning on her phone, Junko had the agency to want to catch Hecatia and Clara in the dining room before they’d headed off. Before Junko hit the sack, she was able to slip into some suitable pajamas. A band’s faded graphic tee and some black fleece bottoms, which turned out to be way comfier than she’d imagined. Right in the nick of time too, as she’d popped in when the two were dressed up and finishing up for breakfast. Dressed up being a subjective term, as her eyes must adjust for brightness with these two. Hecatia adorns a red-black striped V-neck sweater and black leather pants, which would be a cohesive outfit if it weren’t for the material difference. Clara on the other side of the coin is in a blue T-shirt showing a skyline design, pink button-up pants, her spotted cap, and a black zip-up jacket that is obviously too big for her. The jacket screams of hand-me-down, which is super endearing, Junko thinks, considering it’s obviously something Hecatia gave away even if her daughter is a good few sizes smaller.</p><p>From the discarded silverware and plastic basins, Junko guesses Hecatia had heated up some leftovers and Clara enjoyed a bowl of cereal. Junko’s aware that breakfast isn’t always the most exciting meal during the school year, as it’s eaten with the intent just to get something in the system before lunch comes around. Both televisions in the home, the small one in the dining room and larger one in the adjacent living room, are turned off, a personal relief for her.</p><p>Junko takes a seat at the kitchen table across from Clara who’s dawdling around on her portable game system, something that’s vaguely familiar to her. Despite being decently in touch with modern technology, she’s never exactly been a gamer, so all of it is just button clicking and synthesized noise to her. She hunches forward in her seat, looking over to Hecatia whose standing in the kitchen, tossing away some garbage. “Did I miss anything?” Junko asks, eyeing a coffee machine just next to Hecatia with longing gaze.</p><p>“Just breakfast,” Hecatia replies, walking back towards the table, “I did hear something interesting this morning, though.” Hecatia delivers this statement blankly in an almost annoyed tone.</p><p>“What would that be?” Junko replies, Hecatia’s demeanor putting her off, worried that something went awry from last night.</p><p>“Piece told me everything you two did last night,” Hecatia states, walking over to Clara before giving Junko a devious look, which quashes the other woman’s worries but serves to also raise more internal questions. Hecatia obviously knows about their exploits since Junko’d outright told her, something’s amiss. “Jury’s still out on if she thanked you, though,” she finishes, putting her hand on Clara’s head. The girl freezes up instinctually, pausing her game.<br/>
“Well, come to think of it,” Junko mumbles, picking at her brain, “I don’t think she did, but I wasn’t really asking for praise.”</p><p>“I see, you break your back for her and don’t get a thanks in return,” Hecatia rambles in a dramatic tone of voice, embarrassment creeping on Clara’s face. </p><p>“She did say my cooking tasted nice, so perhaps that’s thanks enough,” Junko continues, that statement getting Clara’s eyes to split wide open in fear, as if Junko’s going drop their secret exchange from the night prior, “perhaps I could teach you a thing or two, Hecatia.” Fortunately for the young girl, Junko didn’t drop it but certainly gave Hecatia a loaded hint. What a whirlwind of emotions for a ten-year-old at the crack of dawn. She’s been super quiet, but it’s not hard to envision that Clara takes time to wind up in the morning.</p><p>“Ey, listen, if it’s a culinary war you want, a culinary war is what you’ll get,” Hecatia says, removing her hand from her daughter’s head so she can point at Junko. She then pats Clara’s shoulder, nodding her head towards the door, “anyhow, gotta get goin’, I’ll be back in like forty minutes, we get haircuts then.” With that cue given, Clara kicks out of her seat, shuffling past Hecatia to get to the front door, mother soon following. Just like that, they’ve absconded from their home and are on their way to a destination. Not even giving Junko time to say goodbye or see you later.</p><p>In the meantime, Junko has to brew herself some caffeine and get ready for a day in the public sphere again. While she hasn’t been a big fan of Hecatia insisting on dragging her along, she understands that going out and about is better for her than becoming a shut-in and internalizing everything. Plus, at least in this case, hair down to the ass that is composed of 50% split-ends is not something she wants to manage.</p>
<hr/><p>The first half of their drive had been quiet, most noise in the vehicle just being Clara yawning or the sounds of the outdoors. Fortunately, the weather has stayed pleasant, brisk fall air with partly cloudy skies. While Hecatia’s impartial to the seasons, she’d much prefer the air in Gensokyo never dip below these temperatures, as impossible as that aspiration is. As she gets her head stuck in the theoretical clouds, she’s caught off-guard by Clara rambling. </p><p>“Miss Junko’s really nice,” Clara says, leaning back in her seat and looking to the car’s padded ceiling, “she could be a bit less scary, though.” Hecatia snaps back to, looking at Clara with urgency. Sometimes, she wishes she had the ability to just say things like her daughter does, would really make life easier.</p><p>“See what I told you, she’s a sweet woman,” Hecatia replies, trying to consciously gauge how far from the elementary school they are, “and, welcome to the club, Junko leaves that impression on people.” </p><p>“I guess, but she’s also super spacey,” Clara says, as if her brain doesn’t trail off every few seconds, “that’s the scary thing now, she gets like, bloodshot eyes.” She’d picked up a bit of analysis upon realizing Star’s affinity for picking out mannerisms.</p><p>Now that’s news to Hecatia. She’s been aware that since, well, everything, Junko’s been prone to episodes that were atypical of her prior. The blanking out was always the biggest surefire symptom that Junko was distressed, so this has her concerned beyond belief. At first, these panic attacks had started only upon direct mentions of Chang’e, but Hecatia had later noticed they’d be spurned on by anything that might trace back to her previous family. She’s explicitly tried talking around any topic which may kickstart one of these instances, but perhaps Junko’s mental state is just deteriorating at an unhealthy rate? </p><p>“Well, yeah, it’s part of the package, she’s a bit airheaded,” she says, lying through her teeth, “you didn’t bring up anything I told you not to, right?”</p><p>“No no no!” Clara exclaims defensively, her reaction genuine enough to dissuade any of Hecatia’s suspicions. She shoots up in her seat, looking a bit distraught but willing to give a clear description, “she did it when she made dinner, she said she was distracted by the TV but… there was nothing playing.” </p><p>Even more peculiar, Hecatia thinks. Fortunately, from the sounds of it, it was just a minor freak out, and nothing to be worried about in the moment, but what about in the future? What if, incidentally, when it’s just those two, something goes awry? An old stressor rising from the pit of her conscious and making her overthink again, this thought being quelled by her active mission statement. As long as she’s communicative, things should pan out better, right? If not, perhaps she’ll stop seeing Doremy for advice.</p><p>Before she can mull these thoughts over and goad Clara for more information, they’ve pulled near the circle drive of Clara’s school, signaling that it’s time to drop her off and make a dead heat home. When Hecatia seizes a spot close enough to the curb to drop Clara up, she imparts the girl with some reassurance. “Don’t worry about it, have a good day at school sweetie,” she says, looking to Clara with the most maternal expression she can muster. She’s always taken the route of composing herself like her daughter’s friend instead of her mother. So, naturally, Clara’s taken aback by the gesture, but doesn’t have the patience to do much but hop out of the car and say her byes and “love yous.”</p><p>In the past week and some change, Hecatia would normally wheel the car away, but something catches her eye. She spots Clara gleefully running up to someone, a girl in a frilly, floral dress and short pigtails. It’s a visceral action, as if Clara hadn’t seen this girl in years, like soldiers returning to their families. Their faces light up in unison before walking inside together, Hecatia keeping watch until she can’t see the duo anymore. </p><p>While she has no idea which of her daughter’s friends this is, she’s more than elated to see that she has friends to begin with. It serves as a stark reminder of why she undergoes strife herself: for the betterment of others. Despite appearances and her own immaturities, Hecatia’s a bleeding heart to her core and won’t stand for injustices done upon those she cares about. With that studying her resolve, she finally pulls out of the circle drive and embarks home, having tuned out the sounds of angry parents honking their horns long ago.</p>
<hr/><p>The moment Hecatia sets foot into her home, she’s greeted with Junko standing suspiciously close to the door again, the broad daylight preventing her spirit from leaving her carapace. Junko stands with a recently finished cup of coffee, dressed in a more appropriate set of clothes than pajamas. A standard pair of women’s jeans and the gray sweatshirt she’d gotten from the penitentiary as a cruel parting gift. While Hecatia won’t question it, it serves to remind her of Yuuka, the cold-hearted former warden-turned-botanist. </p><p>“Are we good to go?” Junko asks flatly, placing her cup on the dining room table to return to when they get back. Not many riveting things had gone on in the small time span Hecatia was gone. All she’s had to think about is well, her hair, but more importantly Hecatia’s.</p><p>“Yep, but we’re walkin’,” Hecatia says with a thumbs up, “closest salon’s just a block away, kinda influenced me picking this listing y’know.”</p><p>“Sounds fine to me, I could use some fresh air,” Junko replies, squeezing past Hecatia to find the beat down sneakers that came bundled with the sweatshirt. Hecatia wonders if her friend here just wants to look an autumn jogger or is too lazy to pick out something more intricate. Junko in the past, like Hecatia, took pride in how she dressed and had some intricate, personalized outfits. Dazzling ones that Hecatia misses and will probably not see for a while, considering price tags and opportunities to go clothes shopping. </p><p>“Also,” Junko continues, “have you considered what your hair’s going to look like?” She, out of nowhere, grabs a strand of Hecatia’s hair, this act being the cashed in surprise. Seems like Junko wants one of those every day now, huh. Hecatia turns to look up at Junko, who offers a poker face for her troubles.</p><p>“Dah, I, was thinkin’ maybe returning to blue or maybe going with green,” she says, slowly extending her head away to free her seized locks, “maybe mix a few colors, I’ve never gotten rainbow hair now that I think about it.” She’s not adamant about not letting Junko touch her hair since, honestly, screwing with one another’s hair was a pass time when they were both way younger. If there’s anyone that gets to touch the merchandise, it’s Junko.</p><p>“If you want my opinion, you should go back to blonde,” Junko says, putting her hands at her sides and gesturing towards the door, Hecatia taking the initiative and opening it, allowing for their exit. When they’re out of the home, Hecatia shuts the door and doesn’t even bother to secure it, knowing they won’t be gone for that long. </p><p>“And why’s that?” Hecatia asks, strolling with her hands at her sides, looking back to Junko who’s sluggishly trailing behind. </p><p>“Well, I thought about what you said last night and mulled it over with some coffee,” Junko says, speaking in a louder tone since they’re about to creep into busier environments, “you were last blonde before you got Clara.”</p><p>“Now that you mention it,” Hecatia says, holding the complex door open for Junko to pass through, following suit after her friend’s left the building, “but still, feels kinda recent.”</p><p>“Sure, but I came to one conclusion,” Junko says, now confidently walking ahead, putting some of her own hair in her hand, “you, Clara, and I, could all match.” Hecatia mulls this for a second, this being like that jagged puzzle piece that you’ve been seeking for about an hour, fitting perfectly in it’s oh-so frustratingly placed slot. While Junko has a brassier blonde and Clara has a more golden tinge, a spectrum of the style sounds like quite the novelty. Even if they would embrace the worries of looking like a couple age-misplaced sorority girls, this is definitely the play now.</p><p>“This is why I’ve missed havin’ you around, Junko,” Hecatia says, hanging a hand in the air before tapping her noggin, “you’ve always been the brainstormer.” This eeks a small smile from Junko, which frankly, seeing her smile in this sense is enough for it to be contagious. </p><p>“I also think you and Clara would look adorable together,” Junko continues, speeding past the compliment she just received to dote more.<br/>
Now that’s something Hecatia hasn’t heard in a while, being called cute. Save the rare unsavory customer at work, she rarely has had her appearance commented on like that, even from Junko in the past. She knows Junko’s just referring to how funny it must be to see a mother and adoptive daughter matching like that, but she can’t but overthink it. For a moment she looks away, fighting a temporary surge of flustered emotions before having the gusto to continue conversation.</p><p>“Maybe sometime soon we’ll be the most fashionable trio in all of Gensokyo,” Hecatia says slyly, her having outpaced Junko’s slow walking speed again, “if only you’d take my advice sometime.”</p><p>“If your advice leaves me looking like I did at that restaurant again,” Junko dictates, demeanor taking a 180-degree turn, “I will use your wardrobe in a part of the greatest bonfire this place has ever seen.” Soon after, she chuckles, not being able to keep up the façade much longer. </p><p>“C’mon, can I go a day without you raggin’ on my flow?” Hecatia asks, doing a wide-X chopping motion to her sides, obviously rolling with the facetious atmosphere. Just this small sequence of words was so lame that Junko feels the need to direct the conversation somewhere more productive, at least in her eyes.</p><p>“Anyhow, where is it that we’re getting our hair done?” Junko interjects, looking at the buildings along the sidewalk they’ve begun to traverse. Being that it’s now just past the time that people head to work or drop their kids off, it’s a quiet road, passerbys jogging or walking their dogs being just about the brunt of the crowd. While Junko is not unfamiliar with most of Gensokyo, this sector is certainly a bit foreign. Hecatia had moved her just a month before she finalized Clara’s adoption paperwork, which was a short window of time that Junko wasn’t able to capitalize on back then. Limited visits without actually exploring the area makes it just a tad foreign.</p><p>It’s a nice, quaint little chain of local storefronts and strip malls. The roads are kept well, there’s no shortage of nature, and since the buildings are small, the sky isn’t obstructed. Neat, is the best word that it can be described as. Nothing too over the top or bougie, but still well-maintained. </p><p>“Just a part of a chain of salons poppin’ around Gensokyo,” Hecatia says nonchalantly, raising her hand and ready to give a nice little lecture, “it’s just called Major Cuts, I think that fashion model, Shinki, helped sponsor these joints.”</p><p>“I can’t say those names rings a bell, but it sounds pretty high brow if someone like that’s associated with it,” Junko says, now instinctively looking out for said establishment without having a clue what it looks like. It just sounds like the type of place Hecatia would visit, frankly. Despite not being able to follow them well, trends sure are the ebb and flow of Hecatia Lapislazuli’s character.</p><p>“They actually do a damn good job, better than my old barber, Piece probably has the best hair of her class cause of ‘em,” Hecatia says, having to slip in a quick brag, “the stylists, Yuki and Mai, also just love to bitch and holler at each other, doubt they’ll do it with two of us there, but it’s pure comedy.” Another business with quirky employees, seems that Hecatia can never settle on something boring in her life. After she gives Junko that rundown, Hecatia makes a screeching halt, their destination just over their heads. </p><p>Instantly and without words, they enter the salon, Hecatia taking the lead as per usual. Within are just two young stylists, one with sky blue hair and a white polo, the other with blonde hair, a black brimmed hat, and a black polo. The one in white is at the reception desk, her compatriot prepping a chair for the morning.</p><p>“Ey, Mai, we got two, I’m sure you’re super busy, I know,” Hecatia says to the girl in white in jest, as her and Junko are the first customers for the day. Mai sighs in exasperation, for once being someone who isn’t relieved or entertained by Hecatia’s attitude. </p><p>“What’ll it be ladies?” she asks, giving the look of a woman who’d woken up three minutes ago to both Hecatia and Junko. Yuki continues to set up, preparing a second chair since there’s a plus one this time around.</p><p>“I gotta get a cut and dye and uh,” Hecatia says, pausing for a second before looking behind her, “I’d say she’s goin’ bald but, not my choice.” Another miss, tough crowd here.</p><p>“A trim,” Junko states flatly, taking a ball of hair in her hand, “a, large trim, and some cleaning up.”</p><p>“If that’s the case, I’ll take you Hecatia, and Yuki’ll take your friend,” Mai announces, already heading back towards the first seat.</p><p>“Oh for crying out loud,” Yuki complains, unleashing a fierce scowl on Mai, “you’re just sticking me with lawnmowing.”</p><p>“Excuse me, who has the blue hair here?” Mai asks condescendingly, putting her hands on her hips and returning Yuki’s contempt. As they go at it, Hecatia looks to Junko with a shit-eating grin, it being volleyed back. She was right, Junko thinks, this is quite comedic.</p><p>Yuki’s hands grip the back of her current seat project with considerable force, the woman already at the verge of snapping, “you say this like you didn’t lazily dunk your head in a vat of crayons, towhead.” Gensokyo is home to some characters with a colorful, fluorescent spectra of hair, but rarely are the colors natural. How Hecatia walked out with a deep red color can only be considered a grace from genetics.</p><p>“Anyhow!” Mai exclaims, slapping her hand on a desk, deciding that it’s far too early for this and detrimental to their profits, “we’re rolling with my plan.” Mai reins in Hecatia, Yuki does so for Junko. </p><p>While this is standard procedure for Hecatia, it strikes Junko how long it actually has been since she got a haircut. She’s always preferred having hair far down her body, but her current length and condition is a bit too much. What is currently striking her is that she closer to a nicer, more illuminated mirror than the one in her commandeered room. She, really doesn’t want to look at herself right now, but it won’t be too long anyways. Yuki pats her shoulder after putting on the temporary cutting cloak, prodding, “you got a lot going on here, how do you want to go about ‘cleaning up?’” </p><p>“I, can’t think of an exact measurement right now,” Junko replies, tilting her head as if it’ll get her a better angle, “you certainly know more than I, could you… improvise?” Despite being the most intimidating woman in the room, she has her restraint with asking this question, partially because she just feels dumb for asking it. To her shock, Yuki nods and doesn’t exhibit exasperation. Considering the sample size of this girl’s personality she got earlier, it’s a nice repose.</p><p>“It’s pretty mangy the farther you go down, but it’s not all that awful around,” Yuki says, trailing a hand up Junko’s tangles, ending it just under the shoulder blades, “here.” She looks over to Mai’s stand, her compatriot already getting to measuring the whole inch she’s gotta take off. “It’s a lot but I’m sure since it’s this long, it’ll grow back fast,” she continues, looking at Junko’s face in the mirror, “pretty sure Mai just gave me you because she’s lazy but, I can get it done.”</p><p>“Heard that.”</p><p>“Don’t care.”</p><p>Admittedly, that’s way more than a trim. That’s straight up chopping up over half of her hair. That, frankly, is a peculiar prospect that Junko finds herself being oddly excited for. Plus, she can just zone out in this chair and let the barber work her magic.</p><p>“Go right ahead, sorry about that,” Junko says, looking downtrodden. Without a response, considering the project at hand, Yuki begins getting to work, having to whip out her necessary supplies and make measurements. </p><p>“So, what’re ya gettin’?” Hecatia asks, at a volume that resonates throughout the room. She’d been mumbling earlier about her choice of dye and how to cut a whole inch off, but now that semantics are out of the way, it’s time to get conversational.</p><p>“Restarting at my shoulders,” Junko replies with a tone that reeks uncertainty, Hecatia trying her damnedest to read her friend’s face through a series of mirror peaking.</p><p>“Hot damn, I don’t think you’ve ever gone that short,” Hecatia says, brain flooding with the thought of what this “cleansed” Junko will look like, finding herself more anxious than she should be, “you were talkin’ about matching earlier, maybe you get to my level.” Truth be told, they’re not too different conceptually, Hecatia’s hair ending atop the shoulders while Junko’s ends below. But, considering that Junko’s a head and then some taller, the mass certainly is skewed.</p><p>“There’s only so much we can do to keep to a theme,” Junko says, this being a nice distraction from having to contemplate whilst looking at herself, “I have my preferences too.”</p><p>“Yeah yeah, just a thought,” Hecatia says, getting the view of the stone cold looks on the stylists. While they act like bumbling morons, Yuki and Mai are who she goes to for a reason. Also, they shut up, meaning she can chat.</p><p>“Unrelated, I have a question,” Junko states, trying not to wince as Yuki harshly goes through her hair just to sift through the mess. Even though she’d brushed it the day prior, it sure got to work getting knotted up.</p><p>“Shoot.”</p><p>“I’d been watching TV yesterday and caught a presser, it featured some woman named Okina, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of that woman before,” she elaborates, desperately trying to play socio-political catch up.</p><p>“Eugh, her,” Hecatia blurts out, disgust permeating the air, “just another figurehead politician shoehorned in by the Yakumos.”</p><p>“So, they’re still the governing power here, interesting,” Junko says, not surprised considering that politicians don’t just poof after two years.</p><p>“And they still pride the same nonsense, but good lord Okina’s the biggest crackpot they’ve tried,” Hecatia states, wanting so badly to throw her hands up, but not doing so because Mai would probably stab her with one of the various shaving supplies.</p><p>“Why’s that?” Junko asks, bracing herself for a tangent.</p><p>“Okina exists just so when that old hag Yukari decides to step down, she can just have her little puppet do everything for her,” Hecatia explains, having prepared this rant mentally forever, “but unlike some of the idiots she’s hired, like promoting that Saigyouji woman to treasurer, Okina’s got agency, you wanna know why I know this?” Junko doesn’t respond, knowing that what she says is useless. </p><p>“She tired to get the Society shut down, knowin’ full well it’d absolutely wreck our portion of Gensokyo,” she continues, this being quite the news to hear, “just tried smearing our nice business by saying it was some disgusting hive of alcoholics and creeps.” As Hecatia continues, even Yuki and Mai have tuned into this, political dirt always being something people keep their ears open for.</p><p>“Funny thing is she tried doing this all in secret, it literally took a few leaks to find out that it was her, that she had ties to the Yakumos, and that she was runnin’ for office,” Hecatia rambles, obviously not caring that everything’s in the air.</p><p>“From what I saw, she’s, quite the popular figurehead,” Junko says, just trying to gauge what exactly has been going on. This isn’t a story she heard on any of Hecatia’s visits, it perhaps being too elaborate or negative for such a situation. Now however, screw it.</p><p>“You’d think her being outed as a total bitch would tank her chances, yea,” Hecatia says, tone getting into that frustrated, higher pitch, “but the old idiots in this place eat it up, like she’s going to save Gensokyo from evil establishments that are corrupting the kids, or some shit.” </p><p>“Some people really can’t die fast enough, can they?” Junko mumbles, half-thinking as she said it, now aware of her slip-up when Yuki stops in her tracks for a second with cutting her hair. </p><p>“Tell me about it,” Hecatia says, “either way, I’m hopin’ that Ibaraki lady wins the position, she’s the only person not named me who’s talked about wanting to deck a Yakumo in public.” </p><p>“I always found those lines of succession to be so unnerving,” Junko says, splitting from the topic slightly, “just because Yukari was in office for so long, people thought voting for Ran was a good idea, it’s odd how far a name gets you.” </p><p>“Now there’s talks of one of her grandkids runnin’, Chen or something, swear I should just get myself elected just to prevent this nonsense,” Hecatia states, the concept of a political office run being a total joke. She knows nothing about the nitty-gritty of politics, even at a city-county level like Gensokyo, and would rather die than attempt to. </p><p>Despite being someone who can ramble on about these things until the end of time, Hecatia’s decided that she’d rather go silent for a few. It’s early and she’s sure Junko’s sick of hearing it at this point. Plus, Yuki and Mai don’t get paid enough to hear this kinda garbage. Plus, in the time she’d been rambling, both stylists had made some swift progress, Hecatia’s head being lowered so the dyeing procedure can be done. For her end, it’s mostly just getting bleached in a certain fashion. </p><p>Meanwhile, with the “lawnmowing” as Yuki had referred to it as earlier, it’s also made some blistering progress. While you can’t just go chopping willy nilly, it’s a fairly simple procedure since Junko had just requested it be shorter and not styled. As they both sat in utter silence, completely still, tacky pop music playing over the loudspeakers, it appeared that the two barbers were certainly in some sort of race, as when after the long process, Yuki hands Junko a hand mirror with a triumphant expression.</p><p>“So, what do you think?” Yuki asks, eagerly awaiting Junko’s response. Junko hardly investigates herself, not caring too much about her hair’s appearance right now but is instead distracted with layers of hair caked on the floor. Grody.</p><p>“I think,” Junko mumbles, just happy to have something manageable for a few months until she gets it grown back to a length she prefers, it being as nicely cut as it is just being a bonus. After trailing off, she speaks back up, “I think you did a good job, I like it.”  </p><p>“Thank the heavens,” Yuki says, quickly turning Junko’s chair around so she’s facing Mai’s stand, “ey, check it, I think I’ve set a new record.” </p><p>“Record for what, getting on my nerves?” Mai asks, applying the final rinse on Hecatia’s head, bringing up the hairdryer. Hecatia had to have her head placed in a vat more or less, so she’s stuck staring at the ceiling enjoying the world’s shittiest IMAX idiot theater.</p><p>“It’s gonna turn into a record for putting you six feet under,” Yuki snaps, eventually just taking Junko’s cloak from her and giving her the clear to move around. The initiative is taken and Junko meanders for a second, getting her knees back in it after having sat so stiffly for a sizeable moment. It’s now where Hecatia’s propped up and blitzed with hot air, getting in the way of her hopeful viewing of her friend.</p><p>“She’s got a point Mai,” Hecatia says, calmly taking the heat, “you typically don’t take this long, I got things to see.”</p><p>“Can you please not give me this too?” Mai asks desperately, supposedly miserable in these circumstances.</p><p>“Just givin’ you a little shit, lighten up a little,” Hecatia replies, being met with hot air being pressed into her ear, pretty rude all things considered. Regularly that’s grounds for a major complaint but, being someone who works with unruly customers, she understands. One would think she’d be a wonderful customer regardless, but it requires her to not get a word in edgewise, a sin in her book.</p><p>After a rushed, awkward minute of just blow-drying hair with Junko and Yuki standing idly by, Mai finally kicks Hecatia’s chair up, spinning her around swiftly. If there’s one thing she wants right now, it’s a break, just shortly into her shift beginning. Good lord. “You know the drill, pay up front, then get out of my hair,” Mai says, not thinking about her incidental pun in time, having to catch it in post. “Don’t even think about it,” she continues, seeing that devilish grin on Hecatia’s face.</p><p>“Yeah yeah, I gotcha,” Hecatia replies, now having to do quick math in her head so she can give these two a generous tip. Behind all of the nonsense are two very competent stylists, so they deserve it. “Anyhow, lemme see!” she exclaims, ready to see a cleaned Junko. </p><p>“It’s nice but, nothing too crazy,” Junko says, swiveling on her foot to offer a few more angles, “it feels so light now, though.” Going from ass-length to just below the shoulders will do that, especially if a great deal of it was bunched up in portions. Plus, the carnage of keratin piles left on the floor speaks volumes.</p><p>Junko doesn’t give herself enough credit, Hecatia thinks. While she would also prefer the more familiar look of much longer locks, this spiffier look may grow on her. If only Junko hadn’t arrived in what was essentially her prison clothes, as now Hecatia just yearns to see her in all sorts of pretty outfits. In her eyes, Junko’s always been a gorgeous lady, this just starkly reminding her of the fact. Even when she’s been at her ugliest, Hecatia still enjoys getting an eyeful.  “I bet, you shoulda donated some of that,” she states, pointing at the floor that Yuki has painstakingly begun to sweep up, “three sick kids worth right there.”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s that salvageable now,” Junko states, moving towards the reception counter, urging Hecatia to not get too trapped in conversation.</p><p>“Regardless, it’s a good look on you,” Hecatia says, quickly scurrying past Junko to get her wallet out and begin actually giving this establishment her money.</p><p>“I could say the same,” Junko retorts, a light smile on her face, “I think I’ve been on record saying that I’ve always preferred your blonde hair.” She’s half-tempted to repeat her hair grab from earlier but opts against it this time, not wanting to wear its impact thin. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, same with the blue,” Hecatia says with faux irritation, “startin’ to sound like a broken record.” Through the miracle of having to cram objects into the slim pockets of her pants, she’s always able to keep herself light. Even though her speech is dismissive, she takes the compliment to heart, emphatic that she simply gets to hear things like this. They were never coy with praise for one another and that’s likely to stick until they get old, lest some chaotic schism wedges its way in.</p><p>“I haven’t had much to talk about, as you understand,” Junko says, eyeing the cup of lollipops meant for children to seize, “do I say something more reckless, like that your butt looks good in leather?”</p><p>See, there’s a remark from left field Hecatia wouldn’t have seen coming any day of the week, so as she’s fumbling with a credit card to pay off their rather expensive cuts, she’s got an awkward, embarrassed demeanor that’s most certainly throwing Mai off. Ah yes, classic humor from Junko, making people uncomfortable on purpose. Dissimilar to unnerving strangers not acquainted with her, it’s one of the few things Junko has consistently done to entertain herself, and it’s the first “gotcha” she’s landed on Hecatia in a while. So, she stands tall, snickering away. </p><p>“Laugh it up, ha ha,” Hecatia says, continuously flustered, writing a nice tip on the receipt, “you’re hilarious.” These statements only serve to bury her further, fueling Junko’s comedic flame. “Anyhow, missy,” she continues, patting Junko’s shoulder roughly, “let’s blow this popsicle stand, we got shit to talk about.”</p><p>“Oh, like what?” Junko asks,</p><p>“Stuff that I’m not speaking about in public,” she mentions, shedding her discombobulation away, “there you can talk about my ass all you want.” She says this with more determination than anything, herself feeling like it wasn’t the correct word choice shortly after. Junko didn’t begin going full weirdo upon hearing it though, so she’d consider it a success. With all of that said, the two follow instructions and ditch, leaving a dumbfounded Mai at her post.</p><p>“What was that all about?” Yuki asks from the back, tossing a bag of hair in the trash, a moment of repose shared between the two.</p><p>“No clue,” Mai responds, leaning forward on the desk, “just happy they’re gone, I’d have a restraining order on her if it weren’t for the tips she gives.”</p><p>“Amen.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A later drop since I have been incredibly swamped with school lately. Also, more lore dumping since I often get distracted building the world around the plot instead of the other way around.</p><p>My affinity for giving chapters corny titles will never go away.</p><p>UPDATE: Hello, anyone who followed this may have noticed it's been a decent amount of time since this chapter was posted if the regular upload schedule of once a week/biweekly is taken into account. Truth of the matter is that I've run out of inspiration to keep it going, though I did have plenty of groundwork for future chapters laid out. I don't think I'm meant for episodic stuff (which had occurred with an FE fic earlier, I just don't have the juice honestly) and at the end of the day, I prefer just simple one-shots as it's hard not to get burnt out.</p><p>I may come back to this, chapter layouts are still ripe in my head, but likely not anytime soon if at all. Sorry if this disappoints anyone. I won't remove this, though, for anyone who may read it in the future. Have a nice day.</p>
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